


forestry greens

by vwrages



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dragons, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Stealing, Wilbur Soot is sad, dream is a huge sap, dream is a smartass, he legit fell in love through a letter system, magic magic and more magic, prince sapnap!!, sapnap is a sarcastic nuisance, sapnap is a smartass, techno and philza are mentioned, tommy is trying his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwrages/pseuds/vwrages
Summary: from underneath the new sewn leather, dream can see the peakings of a deep green from under the stitching. he’s curious, he always has been - so he doesnt think twice when he pulls up the floorboard which hides his old pocket knife from his father. flicking open the blade, he’s careful not to damage the new inscriptions in the red leather. the stitching rips quite easily, and dream slowly lifts the soft leather to find a blank, hard covered, green book - with the words, ‘forestry green’, inscribed in all capitals. dream frowns - much more anti climatic than the dragon on red leather, but yet he is still intrigued - and slices down the other side.-in which dream finds a secret book and is thrown into the world of runaway princes, dragons, lost brothers, stolen books and hallways of secrets
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 102
Kudos: 181





	1. chapter one

dream has never been a good student. mind wandering out the school windows, to lands of magical creatures. sure, he could train for hours upon hours at the academy, but the skills he learnt left him in vain. the most dream had ever gotten out of this sword skills was a hunting trip down to the snowy mountains. and even then, the biggest thing he had attacked was a wild hog on their mountain trail. he couldn't skin it, or eat it - just gloat to some of his friends through the blood stains on his overshirt. but dream is bored, and is sick of classroom learning.

his parents are nice. sure, they can be a little overbearing sometimes but they do him well. his dad teaches him how to weld, and his mother teaches him herbal remedies, but once again - dream’s mind flutters away from his little house in town - to quests and journeys that lead him to fight dragons of glittering gold, and reds of every shade. his parents, his teachers, his friends - scold him for his wandering mind, and he just shakes his head in response, blond locks framing his childish grin. his teacher suggests some type of activity - which isn't sword fighting, something creative to help with his imagination.

so that takes him to the library.

the town library is small - more like a small storage attic than a library. dream has never visited before, but he knows his friends have. people lounge outside the store, playing cards or reading books in the warm afternoon sun - and dream lifts a hand to shade his eyes as the sun beats down off the glass of the shop windows. in the storefront are novels of every colour, gleaming covers of greens and red. their titles are inscribed in gold or silver, and have drawings of monsters and magical creatures all over them. dream stares silently, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, before pushing the door open with his shoulder. the golden bell sitting above the door rings softly, and he looks around to see the room practically empty. slowly, he steps down onto the wooden floorboards and looks around.

dream has never read a book leisurely before. he doesnt find novels very interesting. stories about his own country and how it was saved from raids, and how the king saved the town from a major plague can only be told so many times without the mind of a teenage boy losing focus. he is determined to find a book about magic - about dragons, about adventures of knights finding riches and gems. as his eyes scan the shelves, he is stumped to find a hint of fantasy on any of the covers. slowly, he turns towards the books in the display - staring at the covers of the fantasy novels. the covers seemed untouched - almost shining in the sunlight. dream straightens his shoulders slowly, walking towards the display before a voice interrupts his browsing:

“you can’t borrow them.” he quickly spins on his heels, and meets the eyes of the librarian - who peers out from thin framed glasses. she closes the book on the counter and gets out of her chair slowly, approaching the blond.

“they’re for viewing only.”

“i was only looking.”

“heh. ive seen sticky fingered boys like you in here before. you aren’t going to get your hands on ‘em.” she turned away, back to her desk and dream asked:

“do you have any fantasy books?”

“mm?”

“like - dragons.”

“not any for borrowing. they’re all on display.”

dream frowns, turning his gaze back to the display once again. one book stands out against the others on the display - a book with a deep red cover. a hard back - with a gold dragon inscribed on the front. his eyes gaze over the cover - and he frowns at the lack of the name. it almost seems like a new cover has been sewn over the original book to make it look newer. dream frowns at the idea, and reaches out to touch the cover slowly.

a crash.

“stupid cat!” the woman hisses, and rushes to the backroom - and dream swipes the book fast, shoving it under his overshirt before rushing out the door, not before calling a quick ‘thankyou’!

dream grins to himself as he runs, afternoon sun lighting his blond hair a shimmering gold. the red covers glints under the halo above his head, and his fingers run over the inscriptions on the cover. gold, real gold. and a dragon. dream grins wider, and hugs the book tight as he climbs up the stone steps towards his house which is tucked into the mountain side. his house is small, one bedroom for three children - and two mattresses, with dream sharing with his younger sister. they were okay, somewhat comfortable, but a little tight. but they made it work. shoving open the front door with his shoulder, dream retucks the book in his shirt and hums softly - sneaking upstairs quietly.

“dream?” a quiet voice calls and dream freezes in his boots, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, and he turns to meet the gaze of his younger sister, who is clinging to the railings on the stairs. he tenses slightly, before opening his arms and embracing the younger, who wraps their arms around his neck.

“your stomach is tough.”

“im hiding something.”

“from mum?”

“mhm.”

“show me tonight?”

“maybe,” he unwinds his hands from under hers and takes off upstairs, two stairs at a time. his younger sister stares at him as he leaves, before turning away and setting off to do her own tasks. when dream is alone in their bedroom, he untucks the book again and runs his finger back down the stitching on the side.

something is underneath there.

from underneath the new sewn leather, dream can see the peakings of a deep green from under the stitching. he’s curious, he always has been - so he doesnt think twice when he pulls up the floorboard which hides his old pocket knife from his father. flicking open the blade, he’s careful not to damage the new inscriptions in the red leather. the stitching rips quite easily, and dream slowly lifts the soft leather to find a blank, hard covered, green book - with the words, ‘forestry green’, inscribed in all capitals. dream frowns - much more anti climatic than the dragon on red leather, but yet he is still intrigued - and slices down the other side. 

once the book is free from red, dream tucks the red leather under his pillow to admire later but slowly flicking through the pages. there’s words on each page - but not printed like the expensive books he’d seen before. the notes are handwritten, and several of the pages are blanks.

huh, maybe this is what she meant by display only, dream hums to himself - and spills the book open to a random page. its blank, like most pages are in the book - and dream huffs to himself, realising that the red leather really wasnt worth his steal. so he drops the book on his bed, getting up from the messy quilts and busies himself in changing his undershirt and his socks.

its only seconds later, when dream throws his stained shirt across the mattress when he sees the page again.

but this time, the page has writing. 

dream freezes, staring at the page that used to be blank only seconds ago before crossing the floor once again to pick up the novel. his eyes search the page, reading over messy notes that somewhat don't make sense.

‘headed east, set out alone. lost my horse overnight - should i be scared? - s.’

s.

dream flicks back a few pages, and reads a similar entry from the mysterious author.

‘stopped for supplies in a local town. had enough money for potatoes and leeks. wonder if i can curry potatoes? - s.’

and again.

‘met some villagers on the road, let me trade some salted pork for a new pair of boots. bad decision, i dont even like the boots - s.’

was this a diary? it didnt make sense to dream, who was still stumped over the magic page being written before his eyes. curious, dream flipped to another blank page and sat in front of it, watching the paper like a hawk.

surely, he looked insane.

and that’s what he felt, when it didnt write in front of him. dream huffs and turns away slightly - only to return his gaze to see the beginning of a new entry. and the page began to write itself in front of dream’s eyes. 

woah.

dream grins as the words seem to magically appear on his paper, laughing weakly as the author began to jot another entry. 

and then the page stops writing.

and dream grins harder.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'if you're going to try, go all the way. there is no other feeling like that. you will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. you will ride life straight to perfect laughter. it's the only good fight there is.' - charles bukowski

dream wakes with a start the next morning, although quite normal - it still set his heart racing, and blood white in his veins. slowly, he makes a movement to stretch out sore limbs when the book that had been tucked between bed sheets and his overshirt tumbles from the hold of the cotton of dream’s shirt. the boy blinks, eyes blurry as he pushes the last remnants of sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand. his sister, although tucked closely next to him - dosent seem to wake at dream’s movements, shifting only slightly against the fabrics of the quilt. dream slowly collects the book back up under his night shirt, before stumbling to his feet and off the mattress - feet landing onto the cold floorboards. 

when dream gazes out the window, which is shaded under clippings of white linen - he sees the first touches of winter, digging themselves deep into the hues of the valley town. roofs are iced with thin layers of frost, and tall pines are dressed in coats of white. winter is cold, unkind - unforgiving, and it has already set deep discomfort within dream’s young body, shivering underneath weak layerings.

dream makes his way downstairs, taking two steps at a time - hands gripping at the carved oak railing, and is met with the sight of an empty kitchen - despite the pot of slightly burnt oats that steam in the centre of the table. dream hesitates, before making his way across the small room, sticky is his finger in the pot of oats. they’re clumpy, slightly stale tasting - but the dousing of maple syrup and goats milk cream from the tin that dream stirs into the bowl seems to fix that problem. with a more bearable taste, dream takes his bowl and sits down next to the roaring fire, letting the green book fall back into his lap.

dream’s first point of attack is to start reading the ‘entries’ from the beginning, or at least until his mother comes back from her trip to the produce stalls. now that he stares at the book, he can see some instances of wear that sprout from stained pages. clippings, newspaper clippings seem to poke out of some pages - with a large proportion stemming from the front page. pulling away the cover, dream studies the first page, stained with what seems to be dried mud - which contains clippings from newspapers, layered on top of each other.

_ ‘prince sapnap escapes from castle confinement,’ _

_ ‘prince sapnap - murderer or misunderstood?’ _

_ ‘fatal parenting - young prince in constraints,’ _

_ ‘legendary mage book stolen - lost in translations?’ _

_ ‘forestry greens - lost amidst the flames,’ _

_ ‘prince sapnap held responsible for the disappearance of ‘forestry greens’ - a book worth millions _ ,’

prince sapnap.

forestry greens.

_ worth millions? _

dream’s eyes light up, and he turns the book in his hands.  _ this thing is worth millions. i could save my family with that much money. _

but that didn’t answer the question of who this mysterious prince was. if he had stolen it, how did it end up in that bookstore - recovered in red leather? were these entries written by the prince himself? they were signed with an ‘s’ - so it made sense, but why was it so famous? why was the book wanted? why would the prince write in a very expensive book, and if it was originally a diary - then why did he need to steal it?

question upon question stumble through pleasant mind as dream scrunches up his nose as he studies the clippings once more. slowly, his hand flips the page and tucks the clippings back between the cover and page - before gazing over the first entry.

_ ‘my name is prince sapnap, i’m sixteen. and the moon and sun call me to be more. im going to kill ecradaz, the dragon. and burn everything down. _

_ i don’t want to be a prince. _

_ i want to be free.’ _

-

the town square is already painted white by the time dream ventures down the valley towards the cobblestone square. ivy clings and curls around anything that it can touch, and shrivels against the cold - while moss hands from sturdy pines that line the track leading into town. dream stretches his arms high, bones cracking as his long legs retrace paces that are set out every day. children bustle in the streets, laughing and giggling as mitten gloved hands roll balls between palms - which smatter against buildings and other rosy cheeked children. dream watches with quiet curiosity as the repetitive hand clap games are run on throughout the morning, before he sets off, a slight tug in his step.

reading prince sapnap’s entries was more than enthralling - it either scared him, or kept him engaged - there was no inbetween. he was only a week or two into sapnap’s entries - and had already figured out that the boy himself was not to be messed with. he was a trained soldier, despite his young age - and despised every aspect of his family. he was expected to take the throne and lead the country through a new series of crusades through the western worlds, but he refused to fight over the sake of land. so he took off, bag and cloak - not before stopping in the palace library to snatch a few books for the road. in a glass box in the centre of sat forestry greens, a mage’s word on how to survive the road between the kingdom and lonesthym valley, which held the famous ecradaz - a dragon that guarded treasures of every kind. it was a boy’s dream to even get close to the valley, yet alone see ecradaz. but, when he opened the book - sapnap was shocked to find all pages blank, and that the whole legend behind forestry greens was fake. yet, he still believed he could sell it off anyways, even with his diary entries written amongst the pages.

nobody had defeated ecradaz before, yet alone - survive the passage of secrets. apparently, going through the passage of secrets was worse than meeting the dragon himself. the passage of secrets drove the bravest soldiers mad, and the strongest knights weak. it dug up your deepest secrets, tormented you with them - until you snapped, and backed out. nothing about the valley was welcoming, and it scared dream that this boy was going to attempt that alone. hell, dream didn’t even know if these entries were recent - his only giveaway being that he saw the book write itself only yesterday. was his book a mirror copy, copying everything in the original into his own? would this mean dream could write back? he tossed up the idea over breakfast, before deciding to use some of his well earned pocket change to purchase a small quil and a pot of squid ink. it was a few pieces of silver, but dream was determined to try and make any sort of contact with the younger. something drew him in, lit a fire within. sapnap was enchanting, determined. he was something else.

so here he stood, outside their little newspaper stall.

he recognises the three boys almost instantly, wilbur and tommy thrashing about with long strands of paper on rolls - while techno dips his quil into ink and copies word for word the news brought in from the kingdom. wilbur catches his eye, before grinning and stepping away from the paper, leaving it bundled in tommy’s arms.

“dream - i haven’t seen you in a while. how have you been?”

“good, yeah - good. you? you guys dealing with the cold alright?”

“suppose. we aren’t very warm but we have food. that’s enough.”

“i’d gladly take a new coat if someone offered.” tommy grumbles softly, pushing golden locks out of his eyes - and shoving more paper back on the role. in the dim morning light, dream begins to comprehend the full effects of the upcoming winter on the watsons. both tommy and techno are clearly underdressed for the occasion, pale skin exposed to the icy winds - and wilburs eyes hold something, a maybe fear - rebellion. wilbur knows that tommy most likely won’t survive the winter - he’s the runt, he’s sick and he’s small. dream won’t attend the funeral.

“you’re welcome to bundle up with us, we have a fire.” techno shoots wilbur a look, and wilbur declines fast. the watsons are known for not accepting charity, despite tommy’s anxious requests.

“ah no - we’ll be okay. phil comes home soon.”

“well - that’s good, good. hm.” dream studies the ink on display, and wilbur glances anxiously between the ink and dream.

“letter writing? black ink is best, blue for copying.” wilbur concludes, and dream nods - glancing between the three brothers.

“a quill and ink, please. black ink.” tommy looks up at dream - there’s food on the table now.

“three silver.” wilbur states.

dream gives them seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh tommy, sleepy bois inc!! i got v invested in the tommy storyline on the dreamsmp so i decided to mention the boys in here - and the older brother dynamic between dream and tommy. but lots of dreamnap to come!! im v excited ahh,,
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated!!! love u all muah


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'i threw myself into that fire, threw myself into it, into him, and let myself burn.' - sarah j. mass

dream sits in the candlelight, eyes fluttering over scrawled words amongst the pages of forestry greens. he’s tired, and weary - but the quill sits in its pot, taunting him to write. he wants to write to the younger, telling him of his admiration - of his dream to join sapnap on his quest. but yet, his hand doesn’t move - resting against the dark oak wood of the floor. maybe it’s his sister - hawk eyeing him from across the corner of the room, or maybe it’s the fact that he aches to help the watsons. if he sold the book now, he could save tommy - save wilbur and techno, save himself and his town. 

or he could go to the valley with a runaway prince, slay a dragon and live fruitfully off the riches of the rich for all of his days. many of his friends would be dead by the time he returned, but he’d return with enough to ensure nobody ever died again. 

“what’s in the book?” his younger sister mumbles from where she is perched next to their fireplace, dream hesitates.

“it’s a diary.” okay, technically not a lie - and his sister seems to believe him.

“diaries are for girls.”

“so?”

“you’re not a girl,”

“good observation.” dream rolls his neck slowly, hand massaging at his temple and his sister drops the conversation, sensing the awkwardness in the room - and dream reaches his for his quill slowly, fingers running up through the dove feather.

what would he even write?  _ hi my name is dream and i found a copy of your diary in my bookstore and i’m borderline obsessed with you. invite me on your quest? _

dream shakes his head, dipping his quil slowly into the ink before tapping the side on the pot - and opening to a blank new page. he stares at the page, eyes searching for anything amidst the sea of white before scrawling out a simple:

‘can i come with you?’ - it’s short, simple - but abrupt. no formalities, no nothing. he doesn’t sign the message, leaving it to be discovered by the younger. the ink dries fast, as wilbur implied - and dream closes to book fast, shoving it under his shirt once more. his sister looks up from her doll at dream’s hasty movements. she frowns.

“you know tommy watson’s gonna die?”

“i’ve heard.”

“he has a fever, phil isn’t back yet.”

“techno is good with herbs.”

“he’s gonna die dream,”

“i know he is.”

“he’s got a fever, and he’s crying - and wailing, like he’s twelve.”

“he is twelve.”

“why don’t the watsons get help?”

“they don’t want help. if tommy dies - that’s on nature, himself and his family.” his sister glances away.

“he was nice.”

“the watsons have always been nice, and kind.”

“will you take me to the funeral, dream?”

“no.” and the conversation ends at that, and when their mother tucks them in at night - dream swears he can hear tommy watsons pained cries echo through the valley. 

-

sapnap responds two days later.

it’s written in rushed cursive, underneath dream’s original message.

_ ‘who are you?’ _

dream hesitates in his response, thinking out how he could approach this without scaring off the younger. his response is blunt again, answering the question with no room for speculations.

_ ‘my name is dream, i’m seventeen. i have the mirror copy of your book, forestry greens. i live near the valley - and i want to help,’ _

he responds only minutes later,

_ ‘i thought there was only one copy. how do i know your not in it for the money?’  _ dream notes the incorrect spelling, observing that the younger is just as casual and off guard as his entries suggest. 

_ ‘i only want a small portion, enough to help my family and friends.’ _

silence, and then

_ ‘i don’t trust you yet. tell me more.’  _ stubborn too.

dream submits, and writes out a small paragraph

_ ‘i live in a town called sandut - it’s a day from lonesthym. i have a sister, two older brothers - and my mum and dad of course. i fail all my classes, i’m dirt poor - and i just stole one of the most wanted book in the whole country.’ _

_ ‘guess we are similar. you’re a dirty little thief too.’ _

_ ‘not to your extent. you’re wanted everywhere.’ _

_ ‘you said it yourself - i stole the most wanted book in the country too. how aren’t you wanted?’ _

_ ‘it was recovered. i saw green underneath some new red stitching and tore it off. the librarian probably just thought i stole a random book, which is common out here anyways.’ _

_ ‘ah i see. so you’ve read all my entries?’ _

_ ‘does that sound weird?’ _

_ ‘i suppose - but you aren’t sounding too normal right now anyways.’ _

_ ‘charming. you are charming for royalty.’ _

_ ‘i wouldn’t call myself royalty anymore.’  _

_ ‘you said it yourself - you’re a dirty little thief like me _ ,’ i mock him, and i know he’s laughing. something churns in my gut.

_ ‘i’m eight days away from jawerds, which is four days from the valley itself. if you ride on horseback, we should both arrive in jawerds at the same time. i’ll meet you at iollward inn, it’s on the outskirts of town. ask for bad - or skeppy, they know me.’  _ dream stares at the entry with disbelief, before sapnap notes underneath.

_ ‘bring water and food too. its a long hike.’ _

when it comes to asking his parents if he can leave, there is little to no argument. they agree, reluctantly - as most boys in the town do often leave for greater things at this age. dream assures them that he will be back, with riches of another world. he doesn’t tell them that he’s going to lonesthym valley, which he realises is one of the main reasons he’s allowed to go in the first place. but he doesn’t intend to anyways, he simply packs the small amount of belongings he has into a small bag, along with his cloak, the book and his small pocket knife. he’s underprepared but he doesn’t care, it’s more the thrill of meeting the younger and being free from the constraints of his small town.

there’s just one more thing to do.

he tethers his horse outside the watsons house, although dream wouldn’t even consider it to be that. it’s slanted, wood peeling and rotting - and the house is tiled with thick mud. it’s unhealthy, but the boys somehow come out remarkably clean. something inside dream tells him that in a past life the watsons were princes of a different land, emperors. it’s what they deserved - but this life had been unkind. he approaches their door, hesitant at the quietness that settles in the household, before knocking twice.

and there’s nothing.

“wilbur? techno?” he calls into the house, and the silence calls back to him - luring him inside. dream hesitates at the handle, eyes fluttering between the brass and his own fingers before a voice calls behind him.

“he’s dead.” wilbur stands there, alone - skin pale and eyes sunken. he’s quiet, and his breath is shallow and frankly - he looks dead. dream swallows harshly at the words, lifting his hand away from the door to face the older boy. dream doesnt speak.

“we went to run the shop and he died alone. he died  _ alone,  _ dream. in his bed.” wilbur is distraught at the idea of his younger brother dying alone, and dream knows that his death would’ve been far from peaceful. the book suddenly weighs heavy at his side.

“where’s techno?” dream asks slowly, tasting the words in his mouth - but wilbur doesnt care, dream knows he's far beyond giving a damn anymore.

“went to find phil.”

“you buried him?”

“this morning. we cant afford a funeral.”

dream is silent, fist tight around the strap of leather from his satchel - and wilbur is silent, cold - unwavering. he is winter, he is brash. dream stiffens.

“im going away.” wilbur doesnt move, and dream takes it as his cue to leave. stepping down from the small porch area, he glances at wilbur one last time.

“im sorry, wilbur.” is all he can say, all he can mean - and wilbur doesn't move. as dream rides off, wilbur stands - legs strapped to the dirt as the first beginnings of winter begin to fall from the sky. snowflakes, dancing through the hiltering blues that reign above but wilbur dares not crumple under the weight of death, nor of child. in the distance, wilbur swears he can hear the waltzing notes of mellohi that take his brother away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to all my tommy fans ::((( poor child is gone for the sake of character development but i promise things will work out!!! more dreamnap is coming i promise,,


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'a book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.' ― madeleine l'engle

the book burns at his side as he rides, face creasing as the evening of winter sets upon the land. his horse is slower than usual, probably due to the unsteady terrain that stretches out from his town towards the eastern side of the kingdom. not many people travel this way, usually travelling south or north - but never east. the east is known for poverty, ruinous criminals with no mercy - thieving boys with eyes wide for gold and riches. his own town bordered the east, and despite the poverty that rippled through their small community - crime never really took control. what was there to steal? moulding flour? sprouted potatoes? damaged iron swords and falling apart books? there was no value in the town, henceforth meaning that there was hardly any reports of stealing, and so on. it made dream’s head hurt as to how his copy of forestry greens ended up in his town, in his library of all things. shaking his head, dream ducks his head further into his scarf as winter beats down harder on his thin frame.

he still had limited to no information of who sapnap was, and who his parents were. news hardly did reach his town, and when it did - it took the watsons a few days to print out enough copies for the lucky for the few fortunate to buy themselves a copy, so the news was pretty outdated. yet, the name ‘prince sapnap’ never sparked any ideas in his head, nor in his families. maybe sapnap was lying, maybe he was just some poor kid like himself - trying to boost his social status. 

but the clippings seemed real enough. maybe this boy was royalty?

it seemed stupid for a boy who had everything handed to him on a gold platter to run off because his parents forced him to rule. dream would’ve killed to have a stable roof over his head, let alone a mattress of his own. but something in the desperation of his entries, late into the night - mewling out apologies of disappointing the moon and sun struck a chord deep inside dream’s heart, and he let sapnap have his despair. maybe dream would find the guts to confront sapnap about the idea, late into the night - when the two of them were barely awake. 

“sapnap?” he’d call, and the other boy - younger, maybe blonde? or brunette - fine face, blue eyes perhaps - would gaze over at him, innocence pooling in eyes of naivety, and lips of blush.

“yeah?”

“why’d you leave the kingdom?” prince’s were always well kept - he’d seen pictures at school, plastered in the halls. he’d be tall, graceful - porcelain hands and rosy cheeks. and he’d quirk a brow and let out a lilting laugh that would kill dream right there.

“despite the tight pants and gold painted crowns, the book brought me away. and maybe the idea of being more.”

“more of what?”

“a man, not a boy. i need to repay the earth - the moon, the stars. my family never loved me.” he’d catch dream’s fringe with a finger, and tuck it behind his ear - alighting dream’s face with the heat of a million stars. sun boy, fire boy.

“why would you need to repay them?”

“for taking me away from there. from home, or what it was.”

dream would consider, face creased - and sapnap would grin.

“yeah - and you?”

“suppose i need to thank them for bringing the book to me.”

dream would hesitate,

“and for bringing me to you.” 

sun boy, fire boy - yes, dream thinks and wakes himself from his thoughts.

this boy was fire. 

-

the thirdway between sandut and jawerds was a camping area named kings damet, nestled amongst stunted birch and cedar trees. the area lingered with the smell of apple cider and smoke, and small groups lingered under trees in the afternoon sun. winter had not set in as much in these parts but leaves dressed in coats of ice and spindled flakes of snow that rested on eyelashes reminded all that the brutal wrath of winter was on its way. dream ties up his horse on a tall, wavering birch before pulling his fingers from his gloves in a hasty movement, rubbing them together fast. his fingers were numb, arching sore from the strong grip on his horse’s reins - and dream searches through his bag for his flint and steel, tucked away in his tin box originally for his playing cards. his fingers graze the cold steel of the small tin before pulling it out from beneath the folds of clothes stuffed inside the back. popping the lid, dream wastes no time scurrying around the campsite - picking up dry branches and dead leaves, before dumping them back in front of his tree - setting a spark amongst the pile of brown.

the fire lights fast, catching onto the drafted air that surrounds the campsite - and throws a few smaller flames high against the paling blue of the afternoon sky. dream blends in almost perfectly against the backdrop of wandering campers - whose faces are wide with adventure or hardened with the loss of many. nobody knows that he is holding a copy of forestry greens, nobody knows his name. he’s a travelling boy, blond haired, wide eyed - innocent. he wasn’t dream, who shared a bed with his younger sister in a two room house - he wasn’t dream - who received two detentions every week for his limitless imagination. he’s just a boy, with a horse and a silly green book. he’s nobody.

speaking of the silly green book, dream pulls the hardcover from his bag, and opens to the last page the two boys had been messing about in, sitting down beside the tree - fire crackling. ink is smeared down the margin, and childish drawings peak out from behind words - he hasnt written more, but seems to be doodling when he gets the chance. dream’s mind wanders away from the book, back to his previous daydream of the two of them. what did he look like? did he speak with an accent? did he skip in his step, or maybe shuffle on his feet. question upon question lay unanswered infront of him - and he hesitates when reaching for his quil. should he write? would sapnap answer?

was he overthinking all of this?

what if sapnap wanted dream for his copy? what if sapnap wanted dream to fight the dragon for his sake? dream shakes his head, dipping his quil into the small pot. why was he doing this again?

for sapnap - a prince desperate to be more? or for his family, for his town - for tommy, who had died at twelve?

fine lines merge as he scrawls out a small message in the corner of the page - heat beating up onto his face as the fire grows brighter, a warning perhaps. sapnap is dangerous, he is fire too. 

_ sun boy, fire boy. _

‘hey sun boy.’

sapnap doesn't hesitate in his reply,

‘hi - moon boy.’

and all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhhhh,,, dreamnappp!!! wooo!!! we are getting the dreamnap content i wished for, but angst still to come argh :D 
> 
> comment gang!! hru today?? drink some water and have some fresh air, you deserve it :)


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.' - gustav mahler

**this chapter contains mentions of rape**

sapnap is small - petite. he’s girly - and he’s fine. his shoulders were too slim to fit inside the jacket of his fathers, and his legs were too long and gangly to fit inside his boots comfortably. the crown - of what was meant to be his, slipped halfway down his face when he tried it on. the tailor shot his father a look.

“we’ll get it adjusted.”

when sapnap laid in bed at night, eyes wide with white fear that bellowed deep within his bones - his sisters shifted and chuckled deep into the walls of the palace, sprawling words about how their brother was never meant to be a boy. of course he was one - but his body, his lips, his eyes - spelt feminine.

and sapnap despised it.

he stuffed his shirts with cotton, ripped sheets and balls of white. he filled out his frame once his clothes were stuffed - looking in the mirror and watching his cloak ripple off in the right ways, never seen before. he stuffed the ends of his boots with cotton - and when he made his way downstairs that evening, his father gazed at him with something else other than hatred and sick disgust.

and that carried well into the night.

he was left alone, wrapped in sheets of satin - sobbing and clawing at the ripped remnants of childhood that clung to his fingertips. he was sore, and weak - and girly.

and as the dawn spread out onto the horizon, sapnap was touched by fire, by the sun - who whisked up the younger boy and urged him home. there was fire in his hair, in his cheeks - along his fingers, and burnt into his thighs.

and he was filled with untameable rage.

sapnap left the kingdom at dawn, book wrapped under his winter cloak - and his eyes alight with passion and something deeper. something dug deep beneath his skin, urged him to strike a match - find some dead leaves, and light the place up in flames. it wouldnt soothe the aching of his body - but he supposed the vivid image of his father’s body burning would settle his anger. he never did though, too preoccupied with the steal with the century nestled deep under his arm. the thick cover of the book sent shrills of white fear deep into his gut - but sapnap kept running, stumbling in the space of his boots. the sun was hot - beating down against the cobblestone streets of a place he used to know - and it urged him to pick up speed, before the alarm was raised.

would the alarm sound for the missing prince? or the missing book.

obviously the latter.

as he neared the kingdom border, air thick with the winter taste that smeared the kingdom in wraps of grey - sapnap’s attention dove back towards the book. peeling it from under his cloak, sapnap stared at the thick cover burning within his shaky grasp. nothing stood out on the blank greens of the cover, and sapnap huffed out a pitiful sigh at the book.

surely it had to be worth something - right?

there was nothing spectacular about it, from general observation. a deep green with a deep inscription in all capitals sat prominent on the cover - and the deep whites of the pages seemed untouched by even the light of day. sapnap had no clue as to why the book was even remotely special - why it sat protected in a glass case in the palace library. but the sun whispered secrets, hot secrets - and cried to the younger to burn with rage, anger - fury. his father would be angry - he would be furious, he would curse out his son’s name with the wrath of the moon -

and sapnap would be in euphoria.

the sound of the church bell cried out against the greys of dawn, and his feet slammed down against the pavement faster than before. alleys he’d never seen, shops never opened - peering eyes never touched by the wrath of royalty. sapnap ran - and the wailing church bell strung together the lost melodies of children's cries. 

-

far away from the kingdom - valleys of ferns, lillies - wild tangerines that dripped with juice wilted under the impending winter that seemed to coat the rest of the land. the boy was curled under the leaves of a birch - face flushed, legs aching from the hours of stumbling in too big boots that now flushed with sweat down the cotton lining. the book, discarded to the side - sent shrill reminders down the boys burnt thighs that something was terribly wrong - and the aching of his bones only seemed to allude to the mulled idea. ice melted under the morning sun, and sapnap rested beneath dusted eyelashes and rosy cheeks. feigned innocence, doll like portrayal - destroyed under wrath of man. and sapnap ached to scream, to destroy - to tear everything down in a brash movement that would be so devastating, so fast - that nothing survived.

sapnap blinked, felt the book under his arms reach, and wrestled with the idea of what he would do next.

he could make a move to lonesthym valley - like every boy his age would. riches and gold - money more than what a boy could ever visualise. a stone in his stomach - sapnap rolled over, and tipped over the cover of forestry greens. in a hazy memory, sapnap recalled that forestry greens was known in assisting lost travellers in their efforts to travel to lonesthym - so the stealing of the book did seem to have some benefits. as sapnap shifted, the cover was pulled open and the first page was exposed.

blank.

and the next -

blank.

and the few after that -

blank.

“what the fuck,” sapnap cursed, to nobody in particular - and the earth seemed to still slightly.

“what the fuck? - what the fuck?” stuttering - shaking, only to call to nothing. the earth, the flora; the air - was listening to desperation spew from a mouth of gold, and the boy was on his knees in a matter of seconds. the world was unkind - the book rendered useless, and the earth had strucken a heart of innocence and rendition with another unfair strike. he was burning, he was on fire.

_sun boy, fire boy._

“this book is a fake - fucking useless, what is this? some fucking joke?” he was shaking, sobbing with horror that dug itself deep into his bones, and the sun howled down rays of heat that batted away at the snow. in the midst of devastation, the ink pot - tightly wrapped in satin in his pack is split open - and without a second thought - the boy poured it into his hair and down his neck.

it stained, stained his neck - his fingers, and turned ghastly brunette locks black - and when the boy gazed down into the pool of melted ice, an unfamiliar face stared back. ripped of innocence, childhood - fear.

the last of the ink is used to scrawl a message on the first page - stains ruining the purity of the paper, and the sun boy washed his face deep within the water - washing away futile attempts of the past.

_my name is prince sapnap, i’m sixteen. and the moon and sun call me to be more. im going to kill ecradaz, the dragon. and burn everything down._

_i don’t want to be a prince._

_i want to be free._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst angst,,, im sorry sapnap fans :( i wanted to write a pov from sapnap's perspective so you could get a backstory into his character - and in doing so i regained my motiv. to keep writing :) had a little downfall so chapter posting slowed down but i will get back to regular updates soon!! pog!!!
> 
> comment gang,, tysm for keeping me motivated!! ily :D


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “there may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.” - vincent van gogh

when dream wakes, the last hints of purity that hold the land in small embraces has been ruined by aching greys of the cold. trees cling to the last remnants of life that sprouts in small shoots, while grass wilts under frost that has settled throughout the night. futile greens have faded into an endless sea of white, and dream begins to realise that he needs to move.

and fast.

the last of the embers of his fire that have melted the frost surrounding the area slightly, and dream wiggles his fingers slight underneath his gloves. slowly, he blinks away the fine sprinkles of snow that have made their way onto his eyelashes - and rolls onto his left side, feeling for the book still clamped against his night shirt. running down his body, he searches for any signs of frostbite - but frowns at the lack of anything. he’s spitefully warm, and the snow that lines his clothes doesnt seem to sting against the tan skin exposed against his hip.

he then realises that the book is achingly hot.

rolling it in his hands, the snow encased on his gloves seems to melt back into the cotton. no, this wasnt body heat - the book was too hot to be nearly the matching temperature to be what dream was feeling. he frowns, clambering to his feet and kicking a few embers away from the fire. his horse whinnies against the cold, and he shivers at the harsh wind that nips through his undershirt. dream doesnt hesitate untying his horse and restrapping his pack, before clambering back up onto his saddle. his boots sit uncomfortably against his legs, and his horse bucks against the cold.

“sorry bud.” dream means it, and its sincere. if he knew winter would set in this fast - he wouldnt have brought his horse. maybe if he had the guts - he’d sell his horse off at the next town, take the money to find an inn. but sitting still and waiting is never dream’s strongpoint. he wants to run, run to the younger. sapnap is intoxicating, passionate. he wants to sit and listen to this boy run his lips of cherry picked words and lines of citrus. spew colours of every degree - run hands down sunkissed cheeks, and live.

and dream will breathe.

he presses his thighs closer into the horses side, leaning closer to the book against this stomach - and his horses back - urging him to move faster. the wind becomes more bitter the faster they move, and dream presses his face down against the brittle winds. somewhere in the distance, dream hears the shuddering howls of wolves that move much like him. death approaches in cloaks of snow.

dream urges his horse faster.

-

the whispering of the winds stops halfway through his ride. there is silence around - and dream pulls up fast halfway in the middle of the road. his horse snorts loudly, shaking its head in sudden anger and dream hushes the creature with a calm hand. the visibility of the road has dropped significantly under the haze of snow, and the trees whisper shallow warnings that creep deep into dream’s gut. the silence is stifling, and something doesnt seem right about the road - causing dream to disembark his horse shakily, and glance around the area.

tall pines tower over the road, dresses in petticoats of white - but dull in vibrant greens that once strung the land in colour. the ground is caked with thick snow, melting under the sun that has reached its peak high in the sky. dream looks up, shielding his gaze from the glare - before glancing back ahead, into a completely different scene.

the air is white - and the visibility of anything further than a few metres is mere nothing. trees on the outskirt batter in harsh winds that seem to have stopped at the edge of the road where dream stands - and he quickly realises that a snow storm is slowly approaching,

and that he needs to shelter fast.

it doesnt take long to find a camping spot. technically, it wasnt a camping spot - more like an abandoned house, but the horse stable provided shelter for the pair - so it was more than subpar. charred grounds show remnants of travelers fires - so dream takes it as a sign to sit through the storm in the little stable overnight.

in his mullings of the small area, dream stumbles over a newspaper from the kingdom. the ink is smudged, due to the snow that had melted in the early rays of sun - but dream can make out most of the words, and the smudged image.

its a picture of _him._

its an older sketch, he recognises it from years ago. a wandering artist had stumbled into town, and dream spent his birthday coins on a sketch of himself. narcissistic tendencies aside, the picture was framed and hung above the shared doorway in the little bedroom upstairs. 

and now the mulling eyes of grey bore holes back up onto dream’s face.

_ ‘wanted - young boy, said to be involved in the mysterious disappearance of forestry greens’ _

dream carlson.

dream.

its instinct when his fingers grab at the copy of forestry greens, flipping through the pages fast to find a half empty page. sapnaps last entry had been dated two days ago - and the underwhelming silence from the younger sent him to ill spirals. dreams hand shook as he dipped his quill back into the ink jar, mind spiraling with messy conclusions.

_ did the bookstore owner know? _

_ did sapnap dob him in? _

_ was sapnap dead? _

_ did sapnap lose his copy? _

_ was there a third copy? _

‘sapnap’ dream wrote - anxiously expecting a hasty response. ‘someone has found out about my copy. its all over the east side. what do i do?’

in sapnap fashion, he replies hastily

‘dump the book.’ dream frowns,

‘are you nuts?’

‘trust me - they dont want you, they just want the damn book. boy be damned.’

‘what about contact?’

‘how far away are you?’

‘six days,’ a pause

‘youre ahead of schedule.’

‘or youre just slow.’

‘got held up with some guards from the city. making progress now.’

dream shakes his head,

‘what about selling the book?’

‘too late for that now. had the chance when either of us where unnamed. they know now that its either you or me who has it. i dont know how.’

‘me either, but what if you get sick? or myself? or i get lost?’

‘just - get to jawerds. we’ll burn both copies before we get to the valley.’

‘so you think ill keep it?’

‘i know you will,’

‘why?’

‘because you’re too attached to me.’

and all dream felt was summers and blue skies.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the late upload. ive been struggling to plan this out but i have an idea where to go now!! yay :) also, merry christmas!!! wherever you are i hope you have/had a wonderful day!!! this year has been hard so be proud you made it this far :D ilysm!!!
> 
> comment gang!! ily all :) ill never stop saying that, comments make me so happy!!
> 
> twitter: vwrages


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'it’s too bad if a heart lacks fire, and is deprived of the light of a heart ablaze. the day on which you are without passionate love is the most wasted day of your life.' ― omar khayyam

a thief boys march. formed with hordes of stone cold faces to the sense - boots too small, too big - gloves with holes and coats with rips. flickering torches send howling light deep into the blacks of night, and hungry chants dig lost soul wilds. huff, grunt - heave. a boy of pale face and fine innocent.

huff, grunt - heave.

a thief - a criminal to the town.

leading the charge are two boys, similar in face but different in body. one is tall, brooding - a sword at his hip, and the other - slightly shorter, steel faced and edgy on his toes. _‘he killed my brother!’_ the taller one had roared into the night, eyes alight with a flaming anger, untouched by man - but fueled by anguish of family - and the crowd that gathered had jeered in a familiar anger. at their side stood the woman from the bookstore, eyes creased and mouth set straight. the woman was there not on the basis of the town's dead child - a monument to the sufferings of winter, but more that her book had been stolen. and wanted the boy dead for prying dirty fingers near the book of god. the boy had shouted once more, _‘he couldve saved him - saved our tommy, but he let tommy suffer! he had the chance to sell the book - to help him, but he took it and ran, leaving his poor family and town behind!'_

and the crowd had roared louder.

snow caked the road leading out towards the valley - causing stumbles in movements and whines from children. the woman trudged a few paces behind the pack, eyes creased and face set in a downward fashion. the lingering knowledge of the books content and how the book would take the reader to where he most desired dug deep into her pale skin. secrets and rumours that the book would lead directly to lonesthym valley were all fake, a folk tale to somehow increase the value of a dumb empty book. but the mirror book, her mirror book - that mirrored the original - was stolen by a grimey boy with too big eyes and a head full of dreams. perhaps he had dumped the book, figuring it was worth practically nothing - or perhaps he had sold it off in another town. but the woman was wary of the power that the book held - so she stumbled behind, fingers tugging at her woolen scarf.

days stumbled on and the crowd grew wearier with the lunging cold. supposed hints at hooves in the snow lead the parade in circles, messing with heads and stuffy noses. families left the group in search of warmth, and the few that remained either rendered the young boy dead - or on the way out to starvation. the two boys leading shook their heads, determined to trace down the boy - and the few that remained agreed - in slight hope that the closure of the book and the dead boy would bring fortune to the village.

and their wishes came true on the third day.

a snow storm was approaching, sending bellowing howls through the valley - and humming warnings of lost solitudes in the spines of the feeble. the two had pulled up horses at the break in the road, across a small mountain bridge that connected the trading routes with the main road. the trading routes were mostly deserted in winter, as travelers buckled down in inns or went back home - so when they saw a lone horse, anchored to a tree near a stable - it was obvious that the boy was asleep inside.

the group was correct when peering eyes gazed inwards at the form tucked deep into the mounds of hay. dirty blonde hair, pale face with cheeks of freckles - and a small, thin frame. the woman had pushed herself forward between the two boys, and pointed a shaky finger to the book that peaked out of his gaze.

‘stab him,’ the smaller boy had hissed at the taller - and the taller had frowned, cold eyes searching for a reason to cling onto some level of dignity - before retracting his blade slowly. the sound of metal against wood was enough to wake the young thief from an empty slumber. he had lazily rolled onto his side, shifting slightly before peering through his eyelashes to meet the gaze of three hunters.

and it was on.

the taller had thrown himself down onto the thief, tackling him into the hay and struggled against his grip to rip the book from prying fingers. the thief had rolled and pushed the taller off - flicking open his own blade.

“techno.” the thief spat, “what are you doing?” the taller swung.

“you let tommy die. you had the fucking book - you couldve sold it.” another swing, a dodge - two bystanders watched in horror.

“i didnt know that it was worth anything!” a lie - another swing - and the boy slipped the book under his shirt - stumbling away from the hay. his eyes pleaded to the shorter boy.

“wilbur - please. you know i loved tommy.” a swing from the both of them, “he was like a little brother to me too! he wouldnt have survived the winter anyways!” the shorter gritted his teeth, glancing away - before the book tumbled out of his shirt and into the hay. a dive from the taller secured it in his grasp, the thief crying out a sharp ‘no!’ before the knife is at his throat.

“your fault.” the taller spat, eyes burning - book held high above their heads. “all this for a fucking prince, a runaway prince - youre so desperate to be in - in love! with him? youre a - bastard.” the thief gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. “you chose to run after this boy - this dumb, idiot!”

“howd you know?” dream spat, “how’d you know about us?” the woman had stepped forward from the shadows. the eye contact shared was ice - and the thief froze at the realisation of who she was.

“three copies.” the thief frowned,

“forestry greens?”

“forestry greens and redfold blues.” the boy struggled under the knife,

“what does that mean?” he hissed,

“forestry greens and redfold blues mirror each other. you have the original forestry greens - and the prince has redfold blues. emerald afternoon mirrors all three.”

“and you have emerald afternoons?”

“exactly.”

“fuck.” the boy cursed and the taller boy pressed his knife deeper.

“say your final goodbyes.” the taller had whispered, but not before shrieking loudly and dropping the book. slowly, all gazes turned to see the copy of forestry greens alight with a bright flame that touched the hay before setting the straw alight too. the taller had drawn back fast, and dropped his blade - and the thief dashed under his arm and out into the cold air, cutting his horse's lead rope fast.

the screams of the three in the fire in the stable haunted the thief as he rode away, head bowed to the snow storm that stole the innocent and lit fuses in others. emerald afternoons, redfold blues - word jumped and folded in endless seas of green - and the thief rode on the high of pretty boy faces, and a tango with death.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> magic book go brrr x3 ANGST?? i had fun writing this chapter. i am here for protective sbi so dont get me started. and yes, i want dream to realise that HE LIKES SAPNAP WHAT A loser. my mans fell in love over letter - what a loser smh,, but yes!! we're getting close to the irl interactions!! big plans coming --
> 
> comment gang !! ily sm - most of you have a special place in my heart, especially if youre a frequent commenter!! much love, xx


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.’ - cormac mccarthyy

flames, burning - destruction. a vividness of something that could not be recalled. blurred faced but stark scene. he’s there - his boy, bright - glowing.

and he’s fire.

the city is burning, alight with a vibrance caused only by vengeance of man. people are screaming, bellowing prayers into the shooting flames that beckon against the deep of night. dream is lost within the crowd, empty faced and cleared among men. the heat laps underneath his tunic in waves of anguish - and he subconsciously reaches to pull out the thick green novel tucked against porcelain skin. his hand sprays across the cover - a firey anger at the lackluster that the book had caused - before the cover alights in a firey start, tumbling from his grip. he stares at the green, crumbling amongst the heat - before snapping his head up to meet the piercing gaze of a boy his age.

he’s dressed nicely, jacket reflecting heat from waves of red satin - and hair pressed back behind a bandana thats almost slips down his forehead. he’s swimming in his boots, sleeves tumbling over fingers - but his eyes are hard - firey but stern. dream hesitates,  _ its just a kid,  _ turns to to run from the flames that threaten to burn him whole.

but a hand stops him.

his hand is scrunched in dreams collar, eyes glaring down into seas of emerald. he’s shaking in his stance, eyes wide blown under thick eyelashes - before he pulls dream down so that they are closer than close, breath mingling.

“if you tell anyone,  _ anyone,  _ that this was  _ my  _ fault. ill kill you - ill kill you,” he’s straining, barely holding his facade together - “ill  _ kill _ you.” empty promise, and dream scrambles back fast, narrowing missing flames that sprout from a low hanging branch.

_ sun boy, fire boy. _

_ its just a kid. _

“sapnap.” dream says, the word salty on his tongue - and the boy freezes in his movement, before barking out for him to leave, to never come back,

_ sapnap, sapnap. _

dream runs.

-

his face burns, eyes wet with tears that seem to dress him in curtains of guilt. he’s crying - why is he crying? he killed three people, not his fault - but the weight of death churns on shoulders of white. wilbur - older than him, taken by grief in a change of rage that blinded him red. techno, impulses over thoughts - much like his brother, tommy - poor tommy, barely sixteen. grief is terrible - dream never had danced with him before, but the two brothers seemed to know the tango back to front. but that was nearly the surface of the bubbling cauldron. why had forestry greens lit itself on fire? the book obviously had a mind of its own in a sense or another - and that scared dream even more. and the dreams that followed the aftermath of the fire seemed to send dream into more questions than answers. was that really sapnap? why the fire? how were they somehow interrelated? 

_ if you tell anyone, anyone, that this was my fault. _

what was his fault? the fire?

why would sapnap start a fire? why was sapnap painted as a child?

was that even  _ sapnap _ ?

blinking away sodden tears, dream stretches slightly in his small cocoon - cushioned between blankets of soft cotton. the chill spikes and barks deep within his lungs and a sudden cough that expels from dry lips causes dream to sit up faster. the cold has seeped deep inside his body and he twists slightly, wrapping himself deep in his blankets.

his horse - long sold off - brought him enough coins for food and blankets, along with a porcelain mask that hung from two black ribbons tied into the tree branch. it had been an impulse purchase - bought from a travelling merchant who was headed towards the ibalyst kingdom for their royal summer masked ball.  _ lucky bastards _ dream had swore, but looked through his collection. he ended up buying a simple mask - unfinished and only a piece of silver. he wanted to be able to conceal his face in townships, and to hide his vulnerability in rosy cheeks and freckled nose. 

hide his vulnerability from  _ sapnap _ , whose gaze had burned deep into his soul.

at the idea of the boy - dream shot up shakily from his cocoon, dropping the sheets around him and barking out another deep cough that rumbled deep within his thin frame. food and blankets were good and well, but the bitter cold was something else. illness danced deep within dreams chest, and dream didnt hesitate to begin packing.

sapnap - whoever he was, the flame eyed boy he dreamed of - or the doll faced brunette he imagined - would be worried. they had a connection, whatever it was - that dream was unable to face. fawning over a boy he’d never met? loud mouthed, sarcastic - wildfire, bright. it was dumb - dream is dumb, but his heart aches for the contact shared through messy notes and posie words. pushing through the cold that aches within him, dream packs his blankets away before shrugging on his cloak and tying the mask back over his face.

the mask itself was plain - white porcelain with a carved smiley face adorning the centre. he had carved it himself, eager to keep nimble fingers busy - and the plain white mask seemed too threatening by its plain self. the smiley face on it seemed to do the trick, downsizing the hostility of his demeanour - but increased the eeriness of his character. better to be eerie than hostile - dream had supposed, and the mask kept the cold from his face. the pros outweighed the cons, so the mask stayed on.

two days - he guesses, he was two days away from sapnap. without communication, things were certain to be harder for the both of them. sapnap’s messages seemed vaguer and vaguer by the minute - and on his end, his conditions seemed to be much worse. lack of supplies, unfit conditions. starvation, the cold.

the cold.

dream walks, mask down and head to the cold, and in his memories he searches for the warmth of fire that burnt deep within sapnaps eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DREAMNAP DREAMNAP pants loudly i love these two sm sm and i cant wait to write them together finally gahhhhh,, sapnap pov comin up next - also happy new year!!! cant wait to keep writing into the new year :D
> 
> comment gang - ilysm,, go drink some water and stretchh!!! muah!!


	9. chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'the world's flattery and hypocrisy is a sweet morsel: eat less of it, for it is full of fire. its fire is hidden while its taste is manifest, but its smoke becomes visible in the end.' - rumi jalalu'l-din

sapnap walks

and walks.

and walks.

walks until his legs shake and his eyes blear behind doll like eyelashes. he should be running, sprinting - or at least on horseback - but sapnap cant find the energy to run any longer. 

he had ran for days on end, back to the past that defined a face of man, before stumbling in boots and collapsing deep in a meadow of gerberas - far enough to blind silently with the lilting flowers. somehow, they had been left untouched by winter - vivid reds and pinks sprouting under mounds of snow, and in a sleep deprived haze he had dug himself a small hole to curl up into under the lazy gaze of flower heads. days, he left the book untouched - wrapped under his cloak and let his face cool against the cold of the snow.

_ i could die here  _ \- he had thought amongst a haze of delirium, but somehow - his thoughts of dying had shifted quite significantly. no longer did he yearn to take his fathers dagger to his chest, or drink from a vial of potion tucked deep under his mattress. no, a voice urged him to leave - to fight, to burn. revenge was desirable - but seemed to not be the driving force of his passion to continue.

it was a sharp tongued, wild mouthed boy.

_ dream. _

when sapnap first received a reply back, he had been running - desperately trying to search through pages for a lost excerpt he had ripped. rips and shreds of newspapers from various towns lay tucked under the front cover, each detailing his escape and escapade with the famous book tucked in his grasp. every depiction seemed to paint him worse - petty crimes to arson, but none ever detailed the extent of his father. or his fathers touch for the matter. sapnap was a troubled child, a menace. he was nothing but a spark ready to alight at the small inconvenience.

and nobody could love a problem child.

he had spotted the reply nestled amongst pages of white, ink stain more prominent than the usual entries. he had halted, eyes searching the page before mulling over the words printed in a pressed block font. 

_ can i come with you? _

what kind of question was that?

words fluttered in an endless sea of possibilities, and his hands shook when he found the strength to reply. the cold was gracious that day, giving him strength to move his fingers - but the eagerness of the boy - whoever he was, causes sapnap to force himself forward speed twofold. when they wrote to each other, sapnaps gut fluttered and face burnt. dream was kind - sweet, strung words in high regards and sung out strings of phrased that would bind sapnap in satin rings. 

so here he was,

walking.

walking and thinking about a sweet mouthed boy who makes him feel something other than rage.

-

he reaches the next town by nightfall - wintered hues of blue sifting into the dark bellows of the evening, and manages to find a place to stay. its a warm inn, just on the outside of the town - and the owner doesnt seem to recognise his face - so he settles right in. he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the small timber tub, soaking in as much hot water that can scold the coldness from his body - before forcing himself out of the slightly cold water and into a towel, perched on the end of the cot. staring out of the small window, sapnap studies the opera of flurried snowflakes that float down freely in the open air. he stiffens, before averting his gaze - and sliding down from the end of his bed onto the cold floorboards of the cabin. the book flutters, and sapnap resists to urgency to reach for the book and be comforted and dreams words, yet instead taking to picking up the blade situated on his end table.

it was a small blade, sharp enough to do some damage - but not nearly big enough to kill a man. it was a shaving knife, and when sapnap glances at his reflection in the metal - he sees the staining off black ink down his cheeks, and the staunch brown stubble that litters his chin. it doesn't take him long to situate himself in the corner of the room, running birch soap up his jawline - flinching at his own touch, before running the blade across fine hairs. they fluttered down onto tanned arms, sticking out against patches of sunburn - before sapnap brushes them off and continues running the blade down his jawline. 

the book flutters, sapnap resists.

_ ‘because you’re too attached to me.’  _ \- vise versa, sapnap was too attached to dream. late at night, as the stars shone with energy of a thousand moons - sapnap laid in a daze of sunkissed boys and startling words. dream would be tall, no maybe medium height - definitely brunette, but thin. no - he wouldn't be built well, he’d be thin - stickly maybe. curly hair, golden eyes. he’d be a little taller - just enough to be look,

_ to kiss. _

_ to touch. _

kissing dream would be wonderful, sapnap had thought. they’d kiss, and sapnap would explode into a cataclysm of reactions, that would alight him from the inside out. 

when he thought of dream, burning down the city didn't seem so bad.

the book flutters again, and sapnap nicks himself with the blade. hissing, he wipes the bed of blood that drips from his chin - and drops the blade back on the table. pressing his shirt collar to his chin, sapnap pushes himself off the floor and out of his thoughts. the book shifts, sapnap freezes, before it falls open.

and all of dream’s entries have vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sapnap pogggg, gahhh we gettin closee to the meeting im v excited to write em together - and we still have to address alot of angst and alot of mystical stuff yet so we may be looking at 25 chapters?? we will see!! sorry for the short chapter atm, ive been away from my laptop and havent had much motivation,,
> 
> comment gang ilysm!!! have an amazing day muah,,, xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'everywhere he touches is fire. my whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame.' - lauren oliver

its in his bones, his fingers - under his nails, and deep in his heat. its coated everything in slow dripping honey, a dripping tap - never stopping. everything is slow, moving a snail’s pace - and his head spins, like he’s a child again. a child in the daisy field, spinning round and run with his friends before tumbling down hillsides - cheeks flushes and fingers stained green from the fresh sprouts of grass that bloom in the spring. but there is no spring, no grace. just snow - too much snow, and he’s dizzy amongst the cold.

he doesn't know how long he’s been curled up on the side of the road, fingers feebly grasping at cloak ends - desperate for warmth - but his body indicates that its been far too long, and he must move soon. a burning desire to stay put - and sleep for as long as possible, grounds him likewise - so there dream stays, curled up amongst the snow.

in the distance, he foggily hears the sound of cart and horse being pulled along the slow dirt trail that deindles through mountains of coated white. shifting slightly, he pries his fingers from his cloak and blinks away the ice that sticks his eyelashes together. letting out a puff of cold air, he forces his body to roll over slightly - shielding his face from anyone who passes, and burying his face back into his arm.

sometime later, dream makes out the sound of the cart passing by slowly, horse walking in a slow, melancholy pattern. he shifts again, forcing an eye open to see that the cart has stopped somewhere between him and the forest borderline. there’s a sign nearby, he registers - but his vision shakes from lack of water, lack of food - that he resolves back to slump into the cold - letting out a weakened sigh.

_ what was he doing again? _

_ finding sapnap. yeah - sapnap, the blonde haired boy of his dreams. _

‘you there!’ a voice cries, and dream somehow stiffens even more than what he originally was. he moves his hand slowly to pull down his mask slightly, before forcing himself up in the snow.

‘are you hurt?’ the voice calls again,

‘no -‘ dream croaks out to no one in particular, ‘cold - hungry, thirsty - im trying to get to jawerds.’

‘any particular reason?’

‘im meeting a friend at iollward in.’

_ friend. _

‘not in this condition you won’t.’ dream vaguely recognises a hand being dealt down to him from above the snow, and he studies the face before accepting the hand slowly.

its a boy - a couple of years older, he supposes - with olive skin and dark hair that flushes against his rosy skin. he grips dreams shoulder, before undoing his own cloak and wrapping it around dream’s shoulders.

‘you must be dream.’ dream freezes fast - eyes wide beneath his mask, before pulling away from the man’s grasp slowly.

‘i dont h-have.. the book anymore - if thats what you’re looking for.’ dream searches for his blade quickly and the man stops him again.

‘easy tiger - im a friend of sapnaps.’ 

_ oh thank fuck. _

dream lets out a slow breath he didnt know he’d been holding - and the man offers a friendly smile.

‘im skeppy - i own illoward in.’

yes - this is even better.

‘how’d you know it was me?’ dream croaks out slowly, rubbing hands together beneath skeppy’s cloak.

‘sapnap sent me a letter a day or so ago, and paid it to get delivered privately. something happened to his book, so he immediately thought you were hurt. he sent me an approximate date and time of your last location, and i just did a lap of the west boundary.’

‘and you arent going to hand me into the kingdom?’

‘sapnap has done lots of things for me in the past - its only fair i return the favour. they’ll be sending more and more people towards us from both directions in order to capture you both in the same spot.’

‘so everyone knows that sapnap’s coming to me and vise versa?’

‘pretty much - that lady who had the third book did a press thingy.’

dream pauses.

‘i thought she died?’

‘pretty burnt from what the papers suggest - but alive and ready for revenge.’

_ not good. _

‘im guessing you’d like a ride back to jawerd?’

‘i wasnt going to get there myself in this state, was i?’ he smiles weakly - before offering me a hand up into the cart, hatching the gate behind us. he steps back over onto his platform, and takes the reins again - calling a quick ‘ha!’ and the horse begins to shrug forward.

it doesnt take long for dream to stumble back into a desperate sleep that claws in the oblivion. he dreams of sapnap - and of tulip fields that cover the southern plains in summer. he’d read about them in books, and sees hand drawn pictures when travelling men past through - but he’s never seen them with his own two eyes. he imagines summer - and bright colours, and sapnap - and theyre free. and theyre running circles through an endless cycle of lost and found and hopeless and hopeful - yellows, blues - pinks, reds. candied lemons, dried apple - peach tea lemonade and citrus tarts dusted with sugar. danish treats topped with mulberry jam, and tea with two clumps of sugar instead of one - and a summer evening, milking everything into a soft hazel glow that reminds him of yesterday - today, and the hopeful tomorrow.

they arrive at jawerds what seems to be hours later. he doesnt register being woken, but he manages to stumble out of the cart and into the room upstairs that has been assigned to him and sapnap. he strips down to just his underwear, pulls the blinds shut and dips his face into the basin of warm water skeppy has prepared. in a room of pine and hopeful, dream falls asleep again - curled up in blankets of goose down, and waits - waits for the hopeful tomorrow to arrive,

waits for sapnap to come home to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh finally!!! so sorry abt the huge weight, i have been extremely preoccupied with a side project im working on!!! uploads will become bigger and more scheduled as we get to the nitty gritty plot ideas which is only a chapter or two away so stay tuned for that!!!
> 
> comment gang!! i missed yall so much - smooch xx


	11. chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'in the afterglow of an evening rain, i lay down in the grass, and think of you. my body ache like an after-kiss; breaking in soft fires and wildflowers. my dear, i will always be this tender for you.” - sanober khan,

_ ‘he’s safe.’ _

_ ‘the book - it burnt. we don’t know why, maybe a self destruction / protection method.’ _

_ ‘they caught up to him - but he escaped, somehow. caught him lying in the snow suffering from almost hypothermia. lucky bitch had damn survival will.’ _

_ ‘he can’t wait to meet you,’ _

_ ‘move fast - the cavalry is on your ass.’ _

_ ‘stay safe.’ _

dream.

the letter arrives at my inn’s door in the early hours of a sunday morning - where the small town seeps into a cold quietness that lurks deep in the depth of fingers and soul. i am restless throughout the night, tossing and turning over lost ideas and memories of nothing - hoping for signs of something, anything from dream. and my luck comes true, when a knock sounds lightly on the hooded oak door, and the letter flutters in against the floor boards - sealed in red wax. 

bad and skeppy.

i pull the flap of the letter so fast, that the envelope tears directly down the side of the paper. i drop the envelope to the floor, unfolding the paper in my hands and i grip the paper between two hands, reading over skeppy’s distinguishable blocky writing.

when i finish the letter, and the words dissolve into sense in my head - i let out a slow breath i didn’t know i’d been holding.

he’s safe - he’s fine.

you have to move.

yes - i have to move.

it doesn’t take me long to round up my belongings, and give a last feeble attempt to scrubbing the ink stains from my cheeks that still sit against my tan skin. the colour fades slightly, but is still visible when looked at hard enough. i discard the cloth, pull on my cloak and tip the innkeeper generously. 

i watch as he eyes me when i leave. 

on the road, my mind slips into a feeble loop of skeppy’s words, and flashing images of dream in my mind. what was dream to me? a friend - an alliance? someone who was using me? an enemy?

something more?

i thought of dream as attractive - sue me, but i did. his words, his wilting tales of adventures and soulless creatures kept me on edge as if i was a child again, clueless and naive. perhaps i still was clueless and naive, just more cold to the idea, to the touch. dream kept a spark in me alive, moving forward. he was just as desired as i was. i wanted riches, gold - to leave this place with pockets full and a dragon wing cloak. dream - dream wanted some of it too, i suppose. he had a family to take care of, but with his whole town on his ass - was there a family to return to? he was like me - alone, sharing a common goal. would that common goal bring us together, or tear us apart? hell if i know. 

then what would happen if we met? we only had one book, and we’d have to sell it off to get supplies for the hike to the valley. then what? two kids try to take on a dragon which has been undefeated for centuries? those who returned from the valley detailed screaming voices, hollowed cries that echoed deep into the bones of the lost. we would surely die there - minimal doubt to it, but something in me called hollowly that we both had to survive for the sake of each other.

oh yes - that.

the pitiful, stupid boyish crush i had on the boy.

i didn’t even know his face, his voice. nothing.

fucking idiot, sapnap.

a lack of friends, an isolated childhood - maybe it was a mix of just everything. maybe i had been mistreated for so long that feeling the friendship of another person had rendered me head over heels for a shell of someone i never knew. i was stupid - naive, a coward and a bumbling blushing teen that thought with his heart over his head. dream’s words - the way he strung endless phrases that curled along stretches of lines that rested endlessly upon hours - had my fingers clenched and my cheeks flushed a pale red. 

somewhere deep in my thoughts, the sound of horse footsteps brings me back to reality - and i pause slightly, shifting in my boots before diving to the side of the path, hiding under a shelter of snow.

as expected, a calvary passes down the road - tight in formation, and holding banners that flutter deep in the cold wind. i let out a slow breath i didn’t know i’d been holding.

the kingdom.

as the pass by slowly, hooves clicking in a perfect marched melody - i begin to panic and shake myself out of the snow. i’d have to loop a different way, or somehow move faster than them to make it to jawerds in time. we’d be pushing it - i’d be pushing it for time, but i dont have a choice anymore.

the book is even more useless than it was before - meaning that i couldnt even send a warning, nor a letter. slowly, i pull out the book that’s tucked at my side and stare at the cover - brooding in a deep green.

its only then do i realise that theres something underneath.

digging my nails underneath the leather, i pull the corner back to reveal a paler blue hardcover, that has been badly singed underneath. pulling away harder at the thin fabric, i catch a glimpse of a different title scrawled across the burnt blue hues of the new cover:

redfold blues.

great.

‘fucking fantastic.’ it’s not even the real forestry greens - it must be useless then - not even worth a cent. my plan to sell the book for weapons goes hurling down the drain as i attempt to smooth the fake cover back down over the hardcover. it sticks up from where the glue has hardened and i let out a drawling sigh, kicking up snow from where im standing. 

i stay in the snow for the night - staring at the book which has rendered useless in the end. i think of dream - who is waiting for me in jawerds, hidden within skeppy’s care. he’s put so much faith in me - to come to him, for us to win. he’s risked his life - his home, and yet - i sit and mourn like a lost child wanting to go home.

night is cold but forever peaceful - and it renders me to a desperate sleep that claws at my conscious and drags me home.

to him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okokok im so sorry for not updating recently but ive been so busy and gah my mind is very full rn,, but - we are so close to them meetin and im v excited!!! i will attempt to tie up my loose ends in the next few chapters but bare with me,, fantasy is actually not my best genre :) but yes - go lovesick boys go,,,
> 
> kudos and comments adored!! ily ily ily - you all mean sm to me!!!!


	12. chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'yes, you will rise from the ashes, but the burning comes first. for this part, darling, you must be brave.' - kalen dion

dream wakes with a start.

he’s used to it - forcing himself awake from haunted memories that parade around his mind in satin cladded breasts. he is cold - touched by the ghost of winter amidst the inn, where it seeps deep within the pine floorboards beneath his cot. he tosses slightly, stretching aching limbs and lets out a low grunt that forces it way up his throat. opening an eye, he catches a glimpse of the frosted horizon that sits upon the shifting red cotton blinds, that taunt with hollowed calls of a boy he’s never met. he runs a hand through matted locks, letting out a strangled huff - before forcing himself up from the mattress that was oh-so-kind on his limbs that ached in afternoon breath. taking a sweeping gaze of the room once more, dream pushes the curtains aside and wipes the condensation off the glass slowly - only to be met with the sight of snow packed on the opposite side of the glass. he huffs, redrawing the fabric before shrugging on his last tunic that has dried out in front of the fire, before unlocking the door slowly and climbing downstairs.

at the kitchen table sits bad - whose face is creased deep in piles of paperwork, and is surrounded by strewn coffee cups - with rings of cream which float on top of the now cold liquid. he glances up slowly as dream shrugs his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, and bad nods a warm hello.

‘breakfast is in the kitchen,’ bad calls out from his paperwork - and dream offers a smile back, making his way to the counter that juts out from the wall.

dream had been staying at iollward inn for a few days now, and bad and skeppy’s company had been overwhelmingly inviting. they had taken him in with welcoming arms - because ‘a friend of sapnap’s is a friend of ours’. the food was more than sufficient - hell, it was the best dream had ever eaten. roasted potatoes in pig fat - slabs of salted pork, pickled onions - cherry jam. the company was even better - with both boys running the inn in their spare time, but both bad and skeppy were travelling traders in the winter - when the roads were blocked with snow, and most hibernated away in towards the kingdom.

breakfast this morning consisted of porridge and cranberry sauce, which sat simmering in the pot - sticking to the sides of the metal in the warm afterburn. he scoops a small portion into a bowl, drizzling whatever sauce was left before sitting down in front of bad - who was busy writing papers by the seems.

‘sapnap should’ve received the letter by now.’ its a mulled statement, but it causes dream to lift his head from his bowl. slowly, a feeling of dread - excitement, flutters in his stomach - and dream stirs the clumps around in his bowl.

‘thats - cool.’ its amazing, its exciting. sapnap - they’d be meeting soon. something burns deep in dream’s bones - and his face flushes slightly at the idea, before spooning more porridge into his mouth as bad dissolves back into his paperwork.

the inn itself is cozy - dark oak planks line the walls, and messy mud thatch each plank together - nails sticking out where mud could not suffice. on the walls hang paintings, obscure images that float without names - and strips of wallpaper lay ripped but prominent, against the dark wood. the floor creaks with each step, but the house smells of hazelnuts - and chilli chocolate from the south coast, and dried sage hangs in bouquets from the ceiling. it smells homely - it smells like everything dream could’ve wanted.

dream begs himself to stay.

for sapnap.

right.

on cue - skeppy bursts in the door, face flushed and breath ragged as he strips himself of his boots fast. bad flies out of his seat, fussing over the younger and skeppy rubs his face in his hands.

‘fire,’ he croaks out - ‘on the other side of town.’

dream and bad are on their feet in seconds, rushing outside and down the village pathway - weaving through stalls and distraught townsfolk.

_ flames, burning - destruction. a vividness of something that could not be recalled. blurred faced but stark scene. he’s there - his boy, bright - glowing. _

_ the town is burning, alight with a vibrance caused only by vengeance of man. people are screaming, bellowing prayers into the shooting flames that beckon against the deep of night. dream is lost within the crowd, empty faced and cleared among men. _ bad is busy chasing after people, tending to those who are hurt - and skeppy helps haul buckets of water from the well - yet dream can’t help but search for something in the fire. he moves forward, pushing against the crowds of people - before snapping his head up to meet the piercing gaze of a boy his age.

_ he’s dressed nicely, jacket reflecting heat from waves of red satin - and hair pressed back behind a bandana thats almost slips down his forehead. he’s swimming in his boots, sleeves tumbling over fingers - but his eyes are hard - fiery but stern.  _

dream hesitates, convinces himself that he’s dreaming - that this boy who he meets his gaze with is a mirage from his dream. the fire - the heat, it seems all too real - to lifelike. the boy hesitates - before ducking away behind a building as a thunder of horse footsteps come down the pathway. dream follows on instinct, diving behind a building as the calvary thunders through. he catches the familiar fabric that bellows in the wind, thrusted high into the morning sky.

the kingdom. 

dream goes to stand, but something grabs at him fast - and pulls him back against the brick wall. 

and it’s all the same.

his hand is scrunched in dreams collar, eyes glaring down into seas of emerald. he’s shaking in his stance, eyes wide blown under thick eyelashes - before he pulls dream down so that they are closer than close, breath mingling.

_ “if you tell anyone, anyone, that this was my fault. ill kill you - ill kill you,” he’s straining, barely holding his facade together - “ill kill you.” _ empty promise, and dream scrambles back slightly, back towards the entrance of the alley.

_ sun boy, fire boy. _

_ its just a kid. _

“sapnap.” dream says, the word salty on his tongue - and the boy freezes in his movement, staring at dream with wide eyes.

‘dream?’

another large howl of a building collapsing thunders behind the pair, and the two jump slightly - sharing hurried glances and shaky breaths.

this time - dream doesnt run.

he offers sapnap a hand.

he accepts.

and they run.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally - sobs, only took 12 chapters but they r here !!! yay,,, i cant wait to actually get into my storyline now that theyre together so hopefully uploads will become more frequent once i get back on track but !!!! yes!!!!
> 
> comment gang - smooch, ily and u r valid,, go have some water!!!!!! also - feel free to dm me on twt!!! i love talkin to legit anyone xx


	13. chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'he envied the bark, which had been, in the course of one lifetime, both forest and fire. one endured; one destroyed.' - karen joy fowler

dream isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

he’s back at the inn - cramped up on one of bad’s reading armchairs, while the pair fuss over the younger boy who they have taken upstairs. he remembers running back to the inn with him - before bad had whisked him away, fussing over every burn and cut - while dream had resolved to mulling around the kitchen as the others worked their magic. it was obvious that there had been a calvary attack by the kingdom - but most calvary never attacked with fire. they were looking for sapnap, obviously - but that didn't explain the flames, the panic on sapnaps face.

_ “if you tell anyone, anyone, that this was my fault. ill kill you - ill kill you,” _

so dream waits, and shifts - and flexes his hand that hurts from sapnap’s tight grip - and waits, until his eyes blear - and the world in front of him - the fire, shifts into hazey hues of cranberry reds and tangerine oranges. he mulls over his cup of vanilla tea - cinnamon clinging to the sides of the cremaics, and he waits.

waits for anything.

sometime later, bad emerges slowly downstairs - running a hand through disheveled locks - and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. he pauses, catching dream’s eye across the room - before shrugging a towel from his arms into the laundry hamper.

‘he’s in the bathroom now. we’ll eat soon.’

his statement did less to soothe his nerves than it did assure him, causing him to sink lower into his seat, clutching the cold cup closer to his chest in the armchair. bad slips away into the kitchen, hurling tubs of water and lighting a match for the candles - as dream finished the cold tea in a swift movement, scrunching his face up in distaste - before climbing to his feet, and setting the cup down on top of a book, discarded on the side table. dream catches the scrawling of ‘a mage’s word’ on the cover, before moving from his armchair towards the stairs, tucked neatly next to the fireplace.

he doesn't recall his next movements - because before he knows, he’s stumbling backwards and catching himself on the wood railing - after colliding straight into someone's chest. he throws his eyes up fast, pushing his fringe away from his eyes - and catches the eerie gaze of the younger boy.

sapnap.

now that they’re together - under the warm lighting that buries deep around the pair - he looks contrastingly different to what dream imagined. his original idea was of a blue eyed - fair skinned prince, and then his dream came - and now he was here - black hair dripping wet slightly, plastered against flushed cheeks - and a tunic dipping off his shoulders in all the wrong ways.

‘dream’ he says - fast, and sticks out a hand - face blushing a bright crimson. sapnap frowns slightly - before letting out a barking laugh.

‘sapnap.’ 

they shake hands.

his hand is warm.

‘the book,’ dream starts - and sapnap gestures to the table behind them, back in the kitchen - where skeppy is perched, glaring down at the pages. dream swallows hard, before turning his gaze back to the younger.

‘my copy set itself on fire,’

‘i heard.’

‘yours isn't forestry greens,’

‘redfast blues - yes. i know,’

‘i know.’

there’s silence - sweet silence, and the pair share mingled breaths that resonate in the silence of the room. dream flexes his hand, and sapnap grabs it fast - pulling him closer slightly.

‘i've missed you - although i've never met you.’

dream smiles.

‘i missed you too - fire boy.’ 

sapnap pauses - gaze flashing with something unseen, before smiling back.

‘we should talk later. in private.’

‘right - yes, okay.’

they pause again - dream frowns.

‘do you know why the town was on fire? did you set off a distraction?’

sapnap lets out a shuddering breath.

‘later,’ his fingers unravelled themselves from the inside of his wrist, before he steps down past dream and makes his way toward the kitchen, offering skeppy a warm smile on the way past. she shoots a gasping look back at dream, under thick eyelashes and pretty boy smiles - and dream rushes upstairs fast, retiring to his room. from here - he pulls off his cotton tunic, discarding it to the side - before running a hand up his chest, and down his hip.

begging for his mind to portray it as someone else's.

he catches himself, before pulling on a cleaner tunic - one he had bought only days earlier, and running a hand through his fringe again. he should cut it - he realises, before shaking his head out so that it falls back into place, curling under his ears and tickling the back of his neck. he hesitates in the mirror, catching himself fumbling over a boy he just properly met - before returning back downstairs and stalking towards the kitchen.

dinner consists of a spread of meats and exotic numbers - a hazelnut salad with cubed beetroot, and sliced lamb and pickled hams sit beside jars of cranberry sauce that drips down the sides of glass and stain the tablecloth cherry red. raspberry lemonade - thick with sugar and grapefruit lemonade sit sticky on the rims of cups as the night seeps on into careful silences. bad and skeppy retire fast, leaving stacked dishes beside the wash basin - and dream and sapnap are left at the table to finish the rest of the lemonade.

and talk.

oh - right.

they end up in sapnap’s room - tucked at the small desk, running over every small detail that hasnt happened to the pair. dream skips over tommy - the young boy who haunts his mind, and sapnap skips over his father - and what happened deep one winter’s night. its fine - they reason, because most loose ends are tied - except the idea that they are being hunted from both sides, and they need to move fast.

‘we should leave tomorrow,’ 

‘the next day. i need to spend time with bad and skeppy.’

‘incase we die?’

‘yes - i, dont have high ideals.’

‘well - okay. neither do i,’

‘you’re not scared? 

‘hell - not with you.’ sapnap shudders out a laugh in response, dragging a finger over the dust that has accumulated on the desk. he shakes his head.

‘i will never understand you.’

‘have you tried?’ sapnap pauses, before looking up and studying dream’s face in the candlelight. 

‘i think - you’re brave, and witty - and you think with your heart over your head. so there must be a driving force somewhere.’

‘for what?’

‘for you being here. you said you wanted to give your family riches - but do you really? you want something for yourself - nobody is selfless.’

‘nobody is selfless,’ dream huffs, and leans back from where he’s sitting on the desk. his mind flutters to tommy - to wilbur and techno, who hunt in order to grieve. he grieves too, he supposes - in his aching of guilt. maybe if he drowns himself in riches, he can hide from the weight of death that strings him down.

tommy had always been like a brother to him.

‘my family,’ is all dream concludes to - and sapnap shoots him a sharp eyed look from behind his hair. he huffs slightly, getting up and pushing his hair back slowly, stretching aching limbs. dream drinks him in - gaze taking every aspect, every curve.

‘you never answered me,’ dream starts

‘about?’ 

‘the fire.’

sapnap once again pauses. he rolls his shoulders, eyes searching the walls for excuses - before turning back on his foot and studying dream’s face.

‘i dunno. maybe i tripped over a candle? i was trying to escape a hoard, you know?’ he adds a laugh, and dream seems to believe him, even though his eyes flicker with caution. some time later, dream lets out a yawn - and sapnap forces him into bed, not before leaving a lingering kiss on his freckled cheek. 

sapnap isnt sure how long he watches over dream sleeping - but as he returns to his room, he feels an overwhelming sense of dread crushing at his soul.

and amidst the freezing cold, sapnap begins to cry.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!! i am back on my semi normal upload shit!!!! i had alot of trouble building up to this moment so that's why i think the previous chapters have been very lackluster. but now we can start on the actual plot!!! pogchamppp,,,
> 
> comments and kudos adored!!! lots of love xxx


	14. chapter fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'into the ash i dripped my pen and came out with fire.'- jazz feylynn

dawn seeps with whispering colours that soak melodies over yesterday in draped satins. the house moves with a lurch of honeyed calls, and slowly - the world blinks to life amidst the coat’s of white. bad is awake first - pacing downstairs and out into the garden, fingers digging deep into the soil that renders his hands a shade of ebony brown. he pauses, face creased over something unspoken - before ripping whatever root vegetable that is tucked deep under the layers of mulch and cabbage scraps, discarding them to the side in the overgrown grass. he repeats his movements, each with remarkable precision that is hardly noted. skeppy comes downstairs soon after, letting out a mangled yawn - and blinking away restless memories and hours spent mulling over an unformed tension built on the basis of nothing. he finds bad in the garden - and they share a look of something more - before skeppy runs a hand through his messy locks and retreats back inside, with a door slam on the step behind. melted something - and hollowed conversations drip like ebony vines throughout the house, and bad lets out a shattered laugh - pulling himself up from the ground. the dawn has awoken, and the world breathes into step.

dream is next downstairs, running a hand through unkempt waves that shadow over fine facial features. sharp lines - but a childish glimmer. perhaps that’s all it really is - childish innocence, and wide eyes that have been hardened by time. isn’t that how life moves on anyways? an everlasting travel of hardening but hardening is hidden under a facade of ‘growing’. growing - maturing, hardening. he lands at the bottom of the stairs to see the younger boy storm pass in a fast movement, eyes creased and face twisted - and dream quickly steps out of the way, as he brushes in his shoulder with a feeling of such harshness that he can't help but flinch.

‘good morning to you too,’ he can’t help but force out. to nothingness, to an empty room. a shift of breeze, and bad is following him fast - calling out his name in a tarnished manner. like it’s angry - acid, musings. dream can’t help but ponder how perfectly ‘perfect’ the dream duo were - because it seemed to be like they both were balancing on a thin tightrope - over a valley of empty no’s and hopeful yes’s. perhaps that’s what everything really is anymore - hopeful in both sides. sighing, he forces himself from the platform and into the kitchen - where breakfast sits uncooked, but spread out as if someone were to tend to it later. quail eggs - rocket, spinach - spring onions, goats cheese. their clay pots which drip with condensation from the ice bath - lay untouched on the tartan tablecloth, and dream pokes at each with a finger - before resolving to sitting down at the bottom of the stairs, head in hands and face twisted - waiting. 

and as if summoned, he falls down the stairs in graceful misstep - stretching out lazy limbs and running hands down pale cheeks. there’s something about a morning glow - just, everything - he is - all, and dream smiles with a pleasant cheek.

‘good morning, sleeping beauty.’ the younger lets out a choked laugh, shaking the hair frame his frame - and clamping a hand across his shoulder.

‘good morning to you too.’

there is a pause in the movement - before sapnap swipes his thumb in a quick movement - and steps past him, stretching once again. dream admires with a quick gaze - glancing in quiet anxiety over prominent features that stick out at different angles. it’s admiring something different - perhaps art, perhaps something different - but whatever, whatever it is - keeps his gaze hardened on the younger. his skin is something - no - no casualties of tan, chocolate melancholy, no - he can’t possibly use something like that to describe. he is something like evenings that feel like dawn, the equilibrium of light and dark - in everything. balance - he is balance. those eyes, his hair - colours are all perceptions in thorough thought - so he is balance. dark eyes, hair - lighter skin, bright smile. everything must have it’s balance. happiness and conflict - war and peace. a fiery personality - something else,

a candle couldn’t cause that much damage. 

‘bad and skeppy up?’

‘i - think.’ the younger pauses, before sweeping his gaze back from the clay pots to the older.

‘think?’

‘they - were up, and doing stuff - but when i came downstairs, skeppy just stormed passed like he was upset, and bad followed.’

‘huh,’ it’s easy to tell when sapnap’s lying, ‘interesting.’

‘they usually don’t fight?’

‘usually.’ another lie, it seems. he plays with his lips. sapnap turns his gaze back to the pots. ‘can you light a stove?”

dream rolls his eyes.

they cook enough for the two of them - and their volume seems to rise slowly, as do the others. matching - so the facade of safety doesn’t fade. they are lost, and are prey in the major game of cat and mouse. staying in jawerds is all fun and games, until they’re pinned. for all they know, the kingdom calvary is ahead of them. sometime later - when the basin has sloshed across the floor, hot water seeping into the wood and each dish is stuffed back into its plash, piping with steam - the pair venture to the garden, and settle under the overgrown patio nestled with ferns and vines of every variety. dream brings the tea from the kitchen (which they tip out after a cup - it's oversteeped to be bearable without sugar, rations are low), and sapnap brings some saltine crackers that have been sitting in a box for too long (that gets fed to the fish in the frog pond, in a similar dumping fashion). with their hands free, it leaves them with nothing to muse over - and forces them to stare at the book between them, eyes fluttering up and down in a flustered manner. the older swallows hard, shifts in the metal wire chair and leans forward.

‘the fire,’ he starts - sapnap shakes his head.

‘i said it was a candle-,’

‘i dreamt of you.’ sapnap pauses, before sweeping his gaze back towards him.

‘what do you mean?’ sapnap leans forward in a familiar manner, dream scoffs.

‘you said the exact same thing in my dream that you did yesterday.’ dream grabs sapnaps wrist - and pulls it forward, ‘what aren’t you telling me?’

‘why do you care so much?’ the younger snatches his arm back, tucking it back under his tunic. ‘im alive, you’re alive. we need to move - fast. that dream could have been hypothermia delirium.’

‘delirium, charming,’ dream snarks, and the younger frowns deeper. 

‘im serious.’

‘sounds like you don’t believe me.’

‘oh - come on now.’

‘come on sapnap, listen to me. trust me.’

‘i do trust you! you need to trust me,’

‘im conflicted,’ dream confesses - interrupting, and sapnap scrunches his nose. ‘all i know about you is that you ran away on the basis that you didn’t want to rule.’ 

sapnap burns.

_ fire boy. _

‘you don’t know anything,’ he hisses, leaning forward and snatching dream’s wrist in a similar fashion.

‘then tell me!’

‘don’t you have any patience, dream?’

‘patience - patience? sapnap - you were the one - wanting, us to rush!’

‘we are running from a kingdom army and an angry mob. im talking about slowing down in regards to that, idiot! do you think i’m dumb?’

‘then what do we need to slow down with? tell me, im so  _ interested  _ in knowing.’ 

‘this - me, us? what else!’ a pause,

and burning.

dream yanks his arm away fast, hissing softly and running his other hand across his wrist in a fast movement. upon inspecting, a faint red burn ring has appeared across the prominent wrist bones - and dream’s gaze stutters from the skin, to the younger - who is staring, almost in the same state of shock. their gazes meet, and the younger lets out a shuddering gasp - before tearing himself up from the chair to the soles of his feet.

_ we’ve been here before. _

_ say it. _

he doesn’t.

‘you - you, really are - huh.’ dream whispers, and sapnap lets out a strangled shriek, before rushing back inside.

a smash, and the teapot falls onto the stone floor. dream breathes.

_ you are fire. _

burn, boy - burn.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yesss angst wooooo,, finally got to write some between the pair but i promise more comfort will come from this!! i will also be increasing the chapter count so i can not rush into the plot points and their relationship at the same time - because i did tag slowburn for a reason wink
> 
> comments loved and adored! ty to everyone who comments legit anything - they make my dad


	15. chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘fire and water looked so lovely together. it was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.’ - r.f kuang

fear.

it’s the one thing that clings to my body, in every movement. i am a shell of a man, of nothing - and my hands shake with every stroke that sleeps through my body. my eyes burn with something unsaid, and every breath feels like a parade that runs on pure adrenaline. my face stays firmly tucked beneath my arms, and my nails dig deep into skin, desperate to erase every touch that isn’t mine. how stupid - how stupid of me, a boy - anything but rather man, to think that for a fleeting second of blissful innocence would allow me to put trust in anyone but myself.

dream - something too good to be true, something too sweet - blessed, something that was not me. maybe a taunt - an idea to hunt me down and corrupt me by the idea that i could be loved truly by any person - man or woman, ever again. 

surely he did not mean ill intent, of course not - never could, never will. but something about that little idea - that little comment, the burn. he knew - everyone knew, it was obvious - all the lines were tied and drawn together. the shelteredness, the everything - the trauma. hell - this whole idea being revealed should’ve broken down so many of the too many walls built up to my nose. but it did the opposite - it had made me flee, run away like a coward - run away from everything. made me curl up in a hole of ever knowing with only myself and a steady heartbeat to guide me home.

a knock resonates. i freeze.

‘it’s just me,’ just bad - bad is safe, he is kind. he’s the closest thing to home that i’ll probably get a proper fatherly figure. could he even be considered that? bad has always been a clean, a kind influence. something more than a biological fatherly figure could ever be. a laugh, and a hollowed sob.

a biological father.

where was my mother in all of this? absent, gone off to chase whatever ideals that would suit her over ruling a kingdom. could i blame her? no - no of course not. i did the same thing - running like a coward, but with that i caused anger and pain, unlike her - who slipped away with silence and cowardness. similar but different. bloodlines corrupt and twist in delicate ties, bows with double loops. she was dead now - with minimal chances of survival, especially in the harsh winter that she escaped in. what was i meant to feel? sadness, a burning anger? gazing over my memories of the kind eyed woman, left holes of absolute nothingness in my chest. may be the simple femininity that lingered in my figure has rendered him angry - furious, lost - alone. a monster, its what i deserve. perhaps.

‘sap?’

‘mm?’

‘you wanna talk?’

‘ah - no, not really. thankyou.’ he pauses, and i taste my words again. ‘just having a moment, ill come out - soon.’ lie. 

‘is this about the fire thing?’  _ fire thing.  _ i scoff, rubbing hands together and tasting the bitter strings that threaten to spill out of my mouth.

‘he was bound to find out sooner or later.’

‘yeah - i guess. didn’t want it to come out like - that.’

‘like what?’

‘fear - utter confusion, you know?’

‘ah.’

i pause.

‘what did he say to you?’

hesitation.

‘asked if i knew.’

‘and you said?’

‘yes.’ a sense of dread builds deep in my stomach, causing me to sink lower into my arms - as the cackle of the room fireplace mocks enviously. freedom - utter revelation to touch. how ironic, how petty. 

‘come on now,’ he calls - and i huff out somewhat of a laugh.

‘he thinks im a freak bad - he’s gonna leave now.’

‘i can assure you - he won’t.’

‘and you got this idea from-,’

‘him.’ right.

‘what’d he say?’

‘he wants you to come out. so you guys can talk, you kind of - bolted.’

‘im aware,’ bad huffs out a sigh and places what he was holding by the door. ‘lentil pie, potato lentil pie.’ it’s a favourite of mine - he’s trying to lure me like a wild animal. ‘come out when you’re ready.’ it’s sad, how much i cower under his words. love - affection, how childish of i. still, as i hear his footsteps recede down the carpeted hallway - i pry the door open with a weak grasp, and swipe the plate from the floor - slamming the door shut behind me with my back, steam from the dish flushing my cheeks a pale tint. as i place the plate down on the wooden side table, i catch the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs and hesitating outside my door.

‘sapnap.’ dream.

‘go away,’ i hiss, and instantly flush my body weight up against the wood, forcing it to stay shut - despite him not touching the handle. he hesitates,

‘i want to talk.’

‘please - leave. not right now.’

‘no - no, ive chased you for so long!’

‘just - stop! dream, stop. let me breathe.’

he pauses, and there’s silence.

‘fine, okay. yes, fine.’ i breathe, closing my eyes and wishing away forced memories of before. ‘come - find me, ill be reading. somewhere.’ and he’s gone. slowly, i pry my frame away from the door - rubbing a hand down my face, and swiping the plate up between shaky hands. warm steam builds up against my face, before i place the plate back down - swiping my tongue over my lower lip in a hasty action. the pie doesnt seem that appetizing anymore, and i force myself away from the dish so that i wont be sick.

the fire - the burning, the sun and i. we danced and laughed and searched and found. we were one and i was all - but i felt so alone in everything. a freak - a coward, an oh so good when curled up in satin sheets. take a shot of me and take the hit for a moment, then be left with the bitter aftertaste. take a public eye face, pretty body - a people’s child, and burn with the freakshow and circus that paraded in your empty mind. a hangover - burning and scolding and making everything feel like a negative two. good in bad - hard on hands,

‘you’re so good for me.’

the book goes up in flames in a fast movement, burning from my grasp and under the weight of a heavily broken stance. shaky fingertips ghost over crumbling ash that flutters past my finger tips and onto the spruce floorboards, reflecting back on broken promises and hopeful ideals. the book binds me to the past, but the finish line is where everything begins.

i go to dream - we silently agree to something, whatever something is. and dawn breaks - and he wraps long fingers in my own - he searches my face for something - but all is lost, 

and we run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YESSS WE MOVING BABY. we’re finally heading towards our final destination, and soon we can finally get onto some soft shit but for now - angst. also so sorry for not responding to comments - i do read them all but i am so behind on school i cant rn but i will soon!!! ily all sm!!


	16. chapter sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'fire isn't always an element of destruction. classical alchemical doctrine teaches that it also has dominion over another province: change.' - jim butcher

‘say something - say something, do something - just talk to me.’

‘talk? talk - to you. about what?’

‘everything, sapnap - i don't know. you can’t - ignore that whole, thing - that happened.’

‘i was doing a good job.’

‘well,’ he reaches for something - grabs his wrist, and they pause. it’s late - everything aches, and the land moves under lugged shades of melancholy greys. adventure - confusion, such different things that so contradict but seem to be skipping in arm linked petticoats as the rain tumbles from white washed cheeks. a crack of thunder, a skittish movement. ‘just - say, say it - acknowledge that it happened.’

the younger pauses, stops along the path - where the wet grass tickles at exposed calves and the rain clings to every inch of bone and skin and dignity. 

‘it happened, that’s it. i can do that - great, amazing - you win, dream - congratulations.’ another crack of thunder, and the older thrusts a hand towards the sky - catching rain tears with a cold stoned face.

‘we should bunker,’

‘maybe.’

the snow has somewhat turned to grey mush between boots, and it seeps itself between wax tucked linings which causes even more tension that radiates between the pair. the elder drops his hand, running it across his torso in a futile attempt to stay dry - and the pair glance around.

‘no towns for miles.’ he mumbles, the younger shrugs - and runs a hand through wet locks. 

‘tree - cave, i dont know.’ they kick up snow - desperate to stride their way out of a heavy alluding sense of nothingness. dream breathes, sapnap glances away - and all that was built seems broken and lost.

a breath.

‘i think you’re wonderful.’

a confession.

a buttered laugh. slick, sliding away. sitting in stomach and tumbling.

‘you - you fucking, hypocrite.’ burning. dream’s laugh falters someway through, and sapnap turns in step. maybe it's meant to be more, or maybe it’s a futile attempt to save what was so lingered. paper and feelings go like wine and a sense of hollowness - ultimately making things worse, but it's better than noticing. better than noticing what one’s self has become - torn and alluded to the fact that paper can hold better secrets then what a tongue can. so dream calls out as sapnap steps out into the snow, guilding around tan coloured boots. 

‘i think you’re wonderful, and i think you’re smart, and pretty - and you have a fiery tongue that could preach hymns like that's all you were meant to do. and you look at me and you burn me, fire boy. you act and step like you’re dancing on a soiled earth of lies and ash, but the world is at your feet and you have those whose damsels face worship you to walk on - i worship you. you burn and ache and you start wildfire’s everywhere you look-,’

_ don’t.  _

‘but spring cannot come without death. without fire. grass fires, burn offs - all are started for a reason, to burn away what is lost, what is broken - burning at things that could cause bigger problems. like me, like you. and when the ash settles and dusk is near, sprouts bloom and the earth rejoices because it’s all you. you are all, and all is everything. you are fire, life, rebirth. spring. if only you could see that.’

_ if only you could. _

sapnap is frozen, feet planted deep under layers of ash and burn and soil and lies. there are promises and pretty eyed boys, and stars that have been hung just for him. the moon smiles white - round and beaming, heavy breaths linger as the rain pelts harder - and it mocks and laughs and dances, as sapnap stays wet and extinguished in the everlasting darkness that sweeps the surface.

‘sapnap,’ it’s begging, futily, and sapnap runs a hand across a cold face, pushing raindrops from heavy eyelids.

the moon mocks because the sun cannot burn and spring cannot rebirth and fire cannot light because there is a sense of something that clings to every movement that the sun takes. the earth revolves around the sun, and it forever will - but the sun has to take what is given and relive the effects that come from what is heard. the sun will burn the earth, the sun will be cruel, loud - unforgiving, but the sun cannot move from where he is perfectly hung by strings of satin. the moon will come and eclipse but the moon will always leave, and stay an opposite to what the sun will always be.

the moon could never love the sun because the moon is free and the moon is kind and he is peace, he is heart and soul - and  _ oh god, the earth that runs deep in my bones.  _

_ you will always be you and i will be me, and you can hang every star and song and whisper to me melodies from centuries long forgotten when you danced with girls of ebony coloured faces, with fiery hair and ringed eyes - but i will always burn, and destroy and be tainted by men who think for the sake of conquering, of power - and not for silk ribbed faces. you have lived a life that is enviable and you can dance and sing, and you will mourn for people you have lost  _ (mercury - your boy. too close of a brother, but almost a polar opposite. was he your brother?) _ \- and i will burn, and burning brings life that you beg me to see but all i see is the pain and anger and fear i have caused. _

_ “if you tell anyone, anyone, that this was my fault. ill kill you - ill kill you,” _

what is the opposite of rose coloured glasses?

the kiss - is light, warm - feathery. dream’s hands are cold, despite the gloves that are discarded in the rain - and the fact that dream is warm faced and rosy cheeked. there is a low hand that has buried itself deep against the skin of the younger, whose thumb runs circles under his tunic. amongst the rain, there is warmth that bubbles and bursts and rebirth which aches to be freed.

but no, not yet.

it ends in a swift pull, and the kiss is forgotten - as they step out once again ito the pouring rain, but between them, not only the desire for success, for riches - for hope, and each other - is born.

there is light.

and the sun will burn.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slams door open - IM BACK. hello hello yes i have returned from my very long hiatus as i finally FINALLy got some inspo to continue. i was so close to giving up, but stepping away gave me time to think and learn and keep moving forward. ty to those who supported me during that time, it means so so much to me. it was very hard to keep writing when i kept comparing myself and my read count to dreamnap stories that blew up when i dont get many reads, but i need to learn to be grateful and love what i am producing (which is very hard) - but it will get better with time i suppose :) ALSO YAY FINALLY SOME CONFESSIONS SLAMS TABLE - only took them 16 chapters,, more angst and fluff to come though - so stick around :D also we r getting v more metaphorical and i promise thats on purpose!!
> 
> comments are super appreciated. they really keep me going and help me to write, even if its two words - it means sm to me!!
> 
> twt: vwrages


	17. chapter seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'losing your love hurts more than playing with fire.' - leydi morfa

it comes to him again - in a dream.

but something is different, something is wrong. 

there’s fire - burning, uncontrollable rage that haunts and sticks and seeps into stitches and seams. there's smoke, that burns at freckled cheeks and heat that shrivels up hopeful memories of winter evenings. it’s expected, so dream waits - and searches for familiar eyes amongst the harrowing screams of the many.

what he doesn’t expect is someone else.

it comes barrelling at his side, and dream stumbles on impact - grasping at the shoulders of the figure that is precarious tucked against his side. he rubs his eyes fast, pulling himself away and looking down at the figure, expecting for a fiery eyed prince to start squawking at him.

but he’s met with eyes of blue. porcelain and rolling, an ocean of vast nothingness - but yet, hope.

tommy.

‘tommy,’ he croaks out, amongst the soot and stolen envy that coats his lungs in plasticine. the young boy is in tears, rolling thick down reddened cheeks - and his breathing is laboured, similar to his own. his hands stay bunched in the cotton of dream’s tunic, and he lets out small hics as the fire burns closer. ‘tommy what are you doing?’

‘you - prick!’ he hollers, sending weak punches in a tantrum at dream’s stomach. instinctively, he wraps an arm around the younger and pulls him back away from the flames that holler and climb up wooden buildings. squawking, tommy thrashes out of dream’s grip - hands shaking and face red - ‘you prick! how could you do this to me!?’

_ this was nothing like normal.  _

‘do - what?’ dream cries out as tommy edges back towards the flames, eyes flickering about. he already knows whats coming, from the frantic look in those boyish eyes. it reminds him of rabbit fever, dazed eyes and darting movements. he’d caught it once as a child. 

‘my - my brothers, they’re d-ead! you let them - burn,’ there’s pure agony in his voice, shaking with every syllable and he rubs at his face with ripped sleeves that dip over his fingers. dream breathes, forces himself to remember where he is - that it isn’t real.

tommy died of the flu. tommy died of the cold. 

_ tommy is right here. _

his mercury, his boy.

‘tommy,’ dream tries to call, but it goes unanswered in cold ears - as the child shakes and screams and bellows curses into the ever growing flames.

‘you could’ve sold the book - you, bastard!’

‘you left me to die!’

‘why - i-’

_ ‘i loved you. you were my brother!’ _

and like that - he’s gone - stepping back into the flames that whisper him away into broken night. dream lets out somewhat of an anguished cry, and turns to see the flames towering over him.

_ the sun will burn and take and never give - but the sun is beautiful, the sun is soul.  _

and he’s awake.

puffing out short breaths that heave and tug at tired lungs, he runs a hand down flushed face and a hand over his aching shoulders, before forcing a shaky gaze from under cold tipped eyelashes. he barely remembers bunking last night, both of the pair overwhelmed with sickly emotions - but it seems as if they’ve stumbled into a well lighted cave, with moss spilling from crevices - and a constant drip of a water leak seems to soothe them both well. dream shifts onto his side, only to be met with the back of the other boy - tucked beneath their shared quilt, which seems slightly damp to the touch. dream frowns slightly at the memories of the night before - a hasty, forgotten kiss. 

is this really what he wanted?

it seemed so rushed - so, not - them, so not sapnap. he knows the latter is hiding something, but refuses to budge - so he supposes to better leave it. if he wants something, then they’ll make it happen. dream sighs.

outside, he can hear the consistent drop of rain that patters down the grassy hillside where they are tucked. the rain has taken it with it the last hints of the remaining snow storm that passed by only days ago - and fog sits low in the valley, where trout is abundant - and river stones are good to fish on. dream notices the shift of the boy beside him - and a startled grunt, and dream runs another hand through tousled locks that shade envy eyes. 

he’s lost - and scared, scared as to whatever the dream meant - scared for himself, scared of this dragon they had somehow neglected to address -  _ oh god, the dragon. _

they were going to meet the dragon, to win - to somehow beat ecradaz, the myth of the city, the dream of boys his age. they were so naive, so stupid - both books were burnt or absolute frauds, and they still had the kingdom guard and half of the western city on their tail. and they wanted to win - how could they win.

sapnap was pyrokinetic, no doubt about it - and it was astounding, beautiful - elegant. he was confident, brash - while also being careful and reserved. he was everything, yet - he acted as if he was nothing. why did dream care so much? was it because he really was in love? unrequited at the best.

or was it because something inside him compared sapnap to tommy? brash, loud - snarky. one was alive, one was dead. a shudder and another shift.

‘dream?’

‘mm?’

‘you okay?’ brushed aside, everything gone - nothing. dream shifts.

‘what are we?’

a pause from the latter.

‘whatever you want us to be.’

‘what does that mean?”

‘it means if you care enough about me you wont nag me about whatever is going on in your head. i can hear your thoughts from here.’ dream barks out somewhat of a laugh, scratches along his face - and looks down at the other. sapnap is staring at the roof, face flushed from their shared body head - and looking uncomfortable against the rock floor. 

‘do you like me?’ dream asks cautiously, and sapnap rolls his eyes.

‘maybe.’ dream can’t tell if it’s a joke or not.

‘stop thinking.’ sapnap curses and shifts upright from the floor, twisting his back in discomfort. dream huffs again. ‘i liked you since you didn’t turn out to be a dick and sell me out to the guard.’

‘would’ve if i got the chance,’

sapnap smacks his arm.

‘asshole.’

they’re silent.

‘so what’s the plan then,’ he tastes the words, ‘boyfriend?’ 

sapnap flushes a bright pink.

‘about ecradaz?’

‘well - yes, that’s why were going to lonesthym - right?’

‘right - well, i was intending to sell the book for money.’

‘that didnt work out for either of us.’ dream laughs at that - and it’s comfortable for a second.

‘i still think that something’s fishy about those books. where’s number three?’

‘that old hag from my town had it.’

‘and she’s dead?’

‘i have no clue - im guessing so.’    
  


‘right.’

sanap turns to him - ‘don’t you think so? they were so ‘special’ - and then they were empty, and they had fake covers and - something doesn’t add up, and i don’t know what.’

‘stop thinking.’ dream mocks, and sapnap snorts - shoving his shoulder with force.

‘asshole.’

‘love you too.’

they leave the cave at dawn, splashing through muddy snow that drips from trees and bring shallows to the road. by midday - they’re drench and mud soaked, but they smile and bicker and laugh. and the daisies that sprout from the pathside seem to whisper goodlucks and pretty hello’s as they run through thunder, laughing and bellowing into the lazy evening. a mud fight happens halfway through the trek - a squawk bellowing from the younger, and they go tumbling down the hillside - packs digging into their sides and cheeks burning from grinning to hard. 

this time - the kiss is sweet, long - like chamomile tea and milk tea biscuits in spring. it’s apple tarts and custard danish - and sturdy oak trees where children climb and reach for the sun in rosy glassed fingertips - and there is no books of messages of yesterday, no dreams of fire - just the sun and the moon swinging arm for arm around in long grass that beckons away the snow.

and that will do.

just for now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeS COMFORT AND ANGST SLAMS TABLE i really really enjoyed writing this chapter because i finally got to do some proper interactions / talking w the boys so i was able to pump it out fast - more comfort to come ahhh!!! i cant wait for the next few chapters!!!
> 
> ty for all the beautiful comments they all make me so happy / make me cry - yall r too kind xxx
> 
> lots ofg love xx stay safe and wash ur hands my darlings
> 
> twt: vwrages

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading!!! kudos and comments always appreciated!!
> 
> twitter: vwrages


End file.
